The Shieldmaiden of the North
by Bronze Cat
Summary: "You will make a formidable Rider, Ailith. They will write sagas about you." The story of Ailith, childhood friend of Éowyn, Éomer and Théodred. From her youth at the court of Edoras to her part in the War of the Ring. Only her friendship and her love and loyalty to Rohan will keep her strong.
1. Ailith

"Look child! Edoras!" Ailred said. His daughter on her small pony next to him didn't say anything. "Do you like your new home?" he asked, trying in vain to elicit a response from her. For four days they had ridden hard, from their small fortress on the Northern border of Rohan to the capital city in the south. In all that time, she had never said a word.

"We don't know that the King will take me," she said flatly, at last breaking her silence. She nudged her pony's flanks and he trotted forward obediently. Her father sighed and followed her.

At the foot of the steps of Meduseld, they dismounted. Her father was instantly away, leaping up the worn steps with a cry of joy and catching the doorward in a rough bear-hug. His daughter followed at a more sedate pace, a pinched expression on her young face.

"Ailred! What are you doing in this part of the world? We can never tempt you from your Northern Wold!" the doorward was saying.

"I am not here long Háma," her father said. He reached out and she obediently slid into his grasp. "This is the reason why I have journeyed," he said. Háma bent down to examine her face.

"And who is this fair flower of Rohan who graces the court with her presence?" he said kindly. She didn't answer. He straightened up and exchanged a look with Ailred, who shifted uneasily. "She better have some manners, or the King won't see you," the doorward said warily. He nodded and Háma let them pass into the Great Hall.

"Hail Théoden King!" Ailred shouted as he strode down the hall.

"Lord Ailred!" the foreboding man shouted in return. He walked towards Ailred and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "What brings you to Edoras? How fares our Northern border?"

"Well, my lord! I come to you on a family matter," Ailred said. Théoden's brow creased.

"Yes, I heard your wife died. A great pity, she was a fine woman," he said sadly.

"And she gave me a fine daughter," Ailred said, pushing the young girl forward. With another nudge, she swept into a graceful curtsey.

"Hail Théoden King," she said. Théoden looked at her critically. She was about six years old, thin and pinch-faced with grief after the loss of her mother. Her father spoke the truth though, she had beautiful strawberry blonde hair and clear blue eyes, a light smattering of freckles across her slightly upturned nose.

"Welcome to Meduseld," he said to her. "She is indeed a young beauty Ailred, but hardly cause for you to ride so far!"

Ailred laughed.

"Ailith is a joy to me but the North is no place for a young girl. We still have many skirmishes with creatures from the Misty Mountains and she has already run off once."

"I got to Lórien but the Elves sent me home!" she said proudly. There was laughter around the hall.

"That is a feat indeed, little one!" the King laughed. His eyes shifted to her father.

"How did you know they did not send you back an Elven Changeling?"

"Believe me, my lord, a Changeling would be less trouble than Ailith," he said wearily. The King laughed heartily.

"I presume you are wanting me to take her into my care until she is old enough to return home?"

Ailred smiled bashfully.

"You are very intuitive, sir. That is exactly what I wanted to ask you."

"Fortune is with you Ailred. I recently took into my care my niece and nephew. They are very close with Théodred but it would be good for Éowyn to have female company as well. We will be happy to take your daughter."

The men moved away, laughing and joking. Ailith was left standing alone in the hall. She looked around with interest. The Golden Hall was very beautiful compared to the basic hall of her home. She stepped outside and walked over to the brazier. Her eyes scouted the vast plains of Rohan. Although she was Rohirrim born and bred, she was from the Wold to the North. Instead of these flat, rolling plains, her lands were hills of chalk.

"Excuse me?" a timid voice said behind her. She turned to see a pale girl of her own age smiling at her, a pair of boys a few years older standing under the shelter by the door. "I am Éowyn," the girl said. "Are you going to be here for long?"


	2. Showing Off

**Oops, forgot the disclaimer last time. I own nothing but Ailith and any OC characters from the Wold. Everything else belongs to the Tolkien estate etc. **

**Also, I'm using the movie storyline so when I get to Helm's Deep then the women will be going too. Thanks!**

Prince Théodred tumbled to the ground in a mess of clothes and weapons. A high laugh reverberated through the dell.

"Call yourself a Prince of the Riddermark?" Ailith laughed, reining her mare in tightly.

"Ailith!" Éomer chastised. She looked at him wide-eyed.

"A wonderful mess we will be in if our future King falls off his horse at every opportunity!" she said brightly. Théodred struggled to his feet.

"You try riding in a mail shirt. And on a stallion too!" he said bitterly. Ailith raised her eyebrows. She exchanged a look with Éowyn, sitting docile on her grey charger. She removed her feet from the stirrups and brought them up on to her saddle. With a quick breath, she stood up. One hand out-flung to keep her balance, she brought her own horse alongside Théodred's waiting stallion and nimbly stepped across. There, she let her feet slip and she dropped down onto the saddle with a massive grin.

"Who is the better horseman?" she said imperiously. Théodred's face twisted.

"One day, Ailith, you will be doing one of your tricks and you will break your neck!" Éomer said quickly. She laughed uncaringly and threw the reins of her mare at Théodred.

"Here my lord," she said sweetly. "I would hate for you to fall again!"

And then she spurred the flanks of his great stallion and rode away, her laughter carrying on the breeze.

Éowyn looked at her brother and cousin and then rode after her friend. Éomer looked at Théodred. As the oldest at fifteen, he often felt like he had to mediate between his friends.

"You shouldn't let her boss you around like that," he said as Théodred climbed grumpily onto Ailith's abandoned horse. "Of course, she is completely right. A Prince of the Riddermark should be a more competent horsemen by fourteen," he added.

"Just because her and Éowyn spend every waking moment on their horses! I could ride just as well as them if I did not have to spend half my day doing sword practice and sitting with the Council!" the Prince spat.

Éowyn caught up with her friend halfway back to Edoras.

"You better hope he doesn't say anything to his father," she said as their horses drew level. Ailith shrugged.

"Théoden would agree with me," she said boldly. "We can outride him easily and we can match him with swords, probably, and we are two years younger than him!"

Éowyn pulled her horse across the front of Ailith's.

"And what can we do about it? These are times of peace and even if they weren't, we wouldn't be allowed to ride out with the men!"

"Have some ambition!" Ailith said churlishly. Her friend shook her head sadly.

"Ambition? This has nothing to do with ambition! Ailith, I don't want you to be sent back to your father but that is what will happen if you keep on being so vocal!"

Ailith stared at Éowyn.

"What am I supposed to do? Be more like the White Lady? The Palest Flower of the Mark?" she said mockingly. Éowyn blushed, the colour flooding across her white cheeks. "Sorry," Ailith said. She steered the great stallion around Éowyn's charger. "I'm not like you. You are fair and sweet and I'm brash and loud. It's the way we've always been," she said sadly. Her friend gripped her hand and smiled encouragingly.

"And it's the way we always will be," she said.


	3. Making Garlands

**AN: I'm not 100% happy with how this has turned out but I think it's OK. Thank you for the reviews and I hope you enjoy reading it!**

Spring came once more to Edoras. The court of Meduseld prepared for the Spring Festival they celebrated each year. Éowyn and Ailith sat on the steps surrounded by flowers and herbs. They were weaving long garlands to be strung across the rafters, as well as smaller ones for their heads, and were idly watching the men practice.

"He's watching you again," Ailith muttered out of the corner of her mouth. Éowyn looked up from her flowers and met the gaze of a pallid young man gingerly holding a spear. He looked away quickly.

"Out of all the men in Edoras," she moaned, "why is it Gríma who watches me?"

"He's the only one who does it openly. The Flower of the Mark has caught the eye of many," Ailith said jokingly. "She is truly blossoming. How long before she is deflowered and with foal?"

Éowyn blushed hotly and shoved Ailith's shoulder. "You are so crude! Where do you pick these things up?" she said. Ailith ignored her and looped the flowers into her hair.

"Oh look," she said, pointing. "Éomer and Théodred are going to duel. Shall we give them our favour, like those awful drips from Gondor?"

Éowyn laughed and pushed the flowers off their laps. Together they ran down the steps and across to the men.

"Brave Riders of the Mark!" Ailith said, mimicking the delicate Gondorian women currently staying with them. "The Lady Éowyn and myself desire to give our favour to a champion!"

She turned to Éowyn. "To whom do you give your favour?" she intoned. Éowyn giggled and then gravely announced "I give my favour to my brother, Éomer son of Éomund!"

She drew a handkerchief from inside her sleeve and passed it to her brother graciously.

"And I choose Prince Théodred," Ailith said, passing her own handkerchief to him. The boys exchanged looks and then tucked the favours into the sword belts. Giggling, the girls ran back to the steps.

"You always pick Éomer!" Ailith complained.

"He's the stronger of the two! And he's my brother," she said.

"Théodred moves faster," Ailith shrugged. "And he's the future King!"

As the swords clashed for the first time, she sighed. "I miss the days when we were allowed to put on hose and wave our swords around with them."

"Like the Shieldmaidens of old," Éowyn smiled. She gasped as her brother lunged at Théodred, the latter only just parrying the thrust. "He's made vast improvements in the past two years," she noted, meaning her cousin.

"I heard that the Gondorians are here because Théoden is thinking of marrying Théodred to one of the moon-faced cows," Ailith said bitterly.

"Jealous, are we?" Éowyn chuckled. Ailith gave her a weary look.

"Of course not. I just want a Queen who can sit on a horse!"

They both laughed. A few days previously, they had tried to take the Gondorian women out riding, only to discover that, of the four of them, three of them could only just canter and the fourth could only manage to trot. And all four rode side-saddle, throwing looks of horror to Ailith and Éowyn riding in their dresses "like men!" as one of them had squeaked.

There was a cheer as Théodred landed a good hard blow on Éomer's shield and Ailith clapped her hands.

"I hate them. They sit in their rooms all day, singing to each other with their stupid lutes and harps and doing _embroidery_ while we sit out and do the work. If Théodred does marry one of them, I'm leaving Edoras. I'll go back home, I won't serve one of them," she said passionately.

"And I will come with you," Éowyn said, taking her hand as she often did to comfort her. Ailith squeezed her hand and then stared out at the men.

"We have a champion!" she sang. Théodred sheathed his sword and held out Ailith's handkerchief to her. She accepted it with a graceful curtsey.

"Is there a prize?" he asked.

"A dance tonight at the feast?" she proposed, a mischievous smile on her face.

"Of course, my lady," he said, bowing and grinning.


	4. Teasing the Gondor Ladies

**AN: Sorry that this has taken a while to get out but I've been away. Please keep reviewing, I like reviews! Just a heads up that Ailith gets a bit crude.**

"I cannot wait to be back in Minas Tirith and away from these dark halls!" Ivorwen announced. She gasped as Ailith tugged at the ribbons of her dress.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Was that too tight?" Ailith simpered. She didn't like these new dresses. Rohirrim dresses were a basic shift with a belt or a sash at the waist to pull it in. These were Gondorian dresses with ribbons at the back of the bodice and they took an age to do up properly.

"The mornings are so much fairer in Minas Tirith," Ivorwen continued. "The sun catches my rooms just as it rises and the white stone makes everything so much brighter. I don't know how you manage to live in these rooms. They are just so dark!"

Ailith's eyes met Éowyn's in the mirror. They both wanted to point out to Ivorwen that she was currently staying in the best guest bedroom, surpassed only by the Royal Bedchamber. She tied a bow in Ivorwen's ribbons and fetched one of the garlands her and Éowyn had weaved from the bed.

"No, unpick the flowers. I want them woven through my hair, not just on my head like a counrty bumpkin," Ivorwen commanded. Ailith looked past her into the mirror. Her own garland was already sitting on her strawberry blonde hair.

"Well, you can't have that," she said shortly, plonking the garland on the girl's head. "There are herbs in there too and you can't have them through your hair."

"Mine is different from yours!" she complained.

"_Oh, give me strength,_" Ailith muttered under her breath. "There are two different garlands. One of remembrance and one of fertility. To represent the two sides of Spring. We remember what has passed in the previous year and we wish for the next to be fertile so we can live in comfort."

"Which one do I have?"

"Remembrance."

" Is that the one with symbol-monie?" she asked, shaking her long dark hair out over her shoulders.

"You mean _simbelmyn__ë_," Éowyn corrected. "Yes, and rosemary."

"And the other one has hawthorn flowers and ivy," Ailith added.

Ivorwen pouted and examined the sharp cheekbones of her reflection. Ailith bit her lip and glanced at her own reflection. As much as she didn't like Ivorwen, she looked like a queen in the making. She had clear, pale skin and a beautiful face and voice. Her blue eyes shone like sapphires. Ailith's skin was lightly tanned from her hours under the sun and her freckles had spread from just her nose to across her cheeks. Her hair and eyes were bright but nothing special; most Rohirrim women had them. Éowyn's lighter shade of blonde and grey eyes were rarer.

"So, what are we going to do at this feast?" Ivorwen asked, breaking into Ailith's observations. She turned and sat on the bed with Éowyn, watching Ivorwen still twirling in front of the mirror.

"There will be dancing. And songs probably. And the feast itself. The men will get drunk," Éowyn told her. She wrinkled her nose. Ailith and Éowyn exchanged another look. If she didn't like that then she definitely was not going to like the next bit.

"And we have to bestow kisses on the men. For good luck," Ailith added. Ivorwen spun round with horror.

"Are you serious?" she gasped.

"Yes," Éowyn said honestly. "Nothing dirty or anything. Just a peck on the cheek like you would to your father."

"I knew Rohan was an uncivilised country," Ivorwen muttered, turning back to the mirror. Ailith swelled with anger.

"Of course, that is nothing compared to later," she said. Ivorwen froze. "Later the men choose the woman they want and we all fall on the rushes of Meduseld like in a common whore house," Ailith said drily.

That was too much for Éowyn, who scurried quickly from the room before Ivorwen could see her shoulders shaking with laughter.

"Are you serious?" Ivorwen repeated. Ailith widened her eyes in mock shock.

"Ivorwen, have you never had anyone before?" she said. Ivorwen shook her head. Ailith sighed expansively. "Well, I hope you are well rested. It's going to be a long night," she said and then swept from the room.

She hunched over in the corridor, a fist stuffed in her mouth so Ivorwen wouldn't hear her laughter.

"And that is going to improve our relationship with Gondor how exactly?" a voice said. She turned to see Éomer grinning at her.

"Come on, Éomer. You must be as tired as your sister and I are from these cows acting like they are better than us because they are from Gondor!" she laughed.

"The other three are lovely if you would just give them a chance. Ivorwen is just a spoilt girl whose family has recently found favour with the Steward. I'm curious as to how you know what a whore house is like," he said.

"And how would you know too? Is there an extra training exercise for the Riders which I haven't heard about?" she said breezily, taking his arm.

"I'm sure you hear it often enough but one day that mouth of yours will get you into trouble!" he said, smiling at her, an older brother to his rash younger sister.

The door opened and Ivorwen slipped out. She stopped dead when she saw Éomer.

"Lady Ivorwen! Looking forward to later?" he said, leering at her disgustingly. She squeaked a reply and ran along the corridor to the main hall as fast as her dress would allow.

Éomer and Ailith laughed together and then sauntered after her arm in arm. The feast was waiting.


	5. The Spring Feast

"I remember when you first came here," Háma told Ailith blearily. "I've never seen such a dejected looking child. And now look at you! A true Flower of Rohan!"

She laughed silkily. "Nay, my lord! I am afraid you have picked the Thistle of Rohan! If you wish to see the Flower then you must seek out the Lady Éowyn!"

She stood on tip-toe and planted a kiss on the doorward's cheek. He harrumphed to himself and then ambled off towards the mead.

The feast had been its usual splendour of wild boar and there had indeed been many songs. Now the men were drinking heavily and the women moved among them, bestowing their kisses. At least, the Rohirrim women did. The four Gondorian women huddled in a corner, whispering furiously, and glared out at anyone who approached them, male or female.

Someone touched Ailith's sleeve. She turned and swept into a curtsey when she saw her King.

"My lord," she said politely.

"I have heard a story of a certain young lady spinning a yarn to the ladies of Gondor about some practices of the court," he said, warmly but firmly. Her eyes widened.

"I am from the Wold, my lord! We tend to the sheep of your kingdom; spinning yarn is what we do!" she said wittily. He laughed heartily.

"You really are a card, Ailith!"

"There must be a Joker in every pack!" she said. Still laughing, he offered his cheek to her. She fondly kissed it and he moved away, chuckling at her boldness.

She pushed her way through the crowd to the table with the ale and picked up a tankard. She swirled the brown liquid thoughtfully and then sipped it tentatively. Not bad. She could see why the men liked it so much.

A familiar sigh alerted her to the presence of Éowyn.

"I've spent the entire night trying to avoid Gríma," she grumbled. Ailith hurriedly looked over her shoulder and saw him edging casually towards them.

"Better move," she said, raising the tankard to hide her mouth moving. "He's coming this way."

Éowyn groaned and slipped between two Riders. Ailith took a long drink of her ale and wandered back into the throng. Yes, she thought, she could definitely get a taste for this. She milled around the men, giving away more kisses and drinking more ale, until eventually she caught the disapproving eye of Ivorwen.

She marched across the Hall and stopped in front of Ivorwen. The Gondorian's lip curled as she swayed slightly backwards and forwards.

"Lady Ivorwen, is there a problem?" she asked sweetly.

"I've been informed that you may have lied to me earlier," the girl said moodily. Ailith looked at the ground.

"Sorry. You were rather insulting about my people. We aren't savages," she said.

"I'm just not used to this," Ivorwen admitted, looking around the hall. "Do you really not mind kissing them?"

Ailith shrugged. "We've always done it. And not just at Edoras. All across Rohan tonight, similar celebrations are taking place. One of my earliest memories is being carried into my father's hall by mother to kiss our men."

"Even the King though! It's not right."

"It's just a kiss! Besides, a stallion doesn't have only one mare," she explained. Ivorwen frowned.

"A horse is just a beast to make our lives easier," she said dismissively. Ailith's mouth fell open and she looked around quickly to make sure no one else had heard her. She gripped Ivorwen's arm tightly, the other girl crying out as her nails dug in.

"If you say that then I say that the White Tree of Gondor is little more than firewood," she hissed. "You are in the land of the Horse People. Never say those words again."

"My mother says that a woman who drinks is a disgrace to herself and her family," snarled Ivorwen as she snatched her arm away.

"A disgrace? Everyone knows whose bed your mother shares! That is a disgrace!" Ailith shouted as the girl swept away.

"I am sure after that display, Théoden will make you an ambassador to Denethor and you shall bewitch all of Minas Tirith with your tongue," Éomer said, slipping up beside her.

"Oh, wonderful. Why is it whenever I step out of line, you are ready and waiting to pull me back," she growled. Angrily, she drained the last of her ale. He smiled.

"As a brother to a beautifully docile sister, I feel compelled to use my brotherly instincts to help girls who are not as quiet as she," he said.

"How charming. When I am next stuck up a tree, I will shout across the plains for you to come charging to my rescue with all the might of the Eorlingas behind you," she said, lifting the tankard again. She peered into it with disgust. "Empty," she muttered. He pulled the cup from her grasp.

"Even ale does not dull your tongue. Does anything?" he joked. She gave him a withering look that was aimed more over his shoulder than at his face. "I have never seen anyone so affected by one tankard of ale before," he said, grabbing her shoulders and peering in her eyes.

"Are you wanting a kiss or not?" she snapped. He patted her tenderly.

"No, thank you. I think Théodred might appreciate one however."

"Shove Ivorwen towards him like his father wants and if he still wants me then get him to ask me himself," she replied. "Now, if you excuse me, I have to rescue your sister from Gríma."

He watched her walk across the Hall, swaying slightly admittedly, and slip her arm through Éowyn's. The two girls held a whispered conference and then vanished from his sight.

His cousin detached himself from a group of Riders and approached him.

"Well?" he said, handing Éomer a fresh tankard. Éomer looked at him sympathetically.

"She suggests Ivorwen."

Théodred scoffed. "I want a Rohirrim girl for my Queen, not a Gondorian," he said venomously.

"And out of all of them, you choose Ailith? She won't listen to you; she won't be a submissive Queen. You do realise that, don't you?"

Théodred shrugged. "She is good company, she is intelligent and she will give me fine children."

He grinned at Éomer wickedly.

"Well, you know the next step," his cousin replied, holding out his tankard. They smirked at each other and clanked the tankards together.


	6. Summons

The party of horsemen were first sighted by the morning watchmen. By midday, they were in Edoras. The King welcomed them into the Golden Hall and ordered that they were not to be disturbed.

Ailith and Éowyn, released from their duties for the day, decided to saddle their horses and ride out onto the Plains. Éowyn's mare was waiting patiently in her stall but Ailith's was not. She was tethered outside the stable, already saddled.

The Rohirrim saddled their own horses. Everyone, from the lowliest farmer to Théoden himself, saddled their own horses. It was the oldest law of Rohan and there was only one exception ever allowed.

Ailith breathed out slowly and then moved to her mare's head. There, in the bridle, was the bunch of violets.

She turned quickly to Éowyn. "Look! Some idiot has saddled my horse instead of yours!" she said brightly.

"No, my lady." It was one of the stable lads. "The suitor asked for the horse of the Lady Ailith, not the Lady Éowyn."

Ailith visibly blanched. For once, her quick tongue failed her.

"Well, who is it?" she demanded. There was a gasp from one of the watching women. She hastily dropped into a curtsey when Ailith turned her gaze on her.

"One does not ask, my lady. Your suitor will make himself known to you when he is ready," she trembled, her eyes fixed on the ground.

Éowyn touched her friend's shoulders and jumped back when she flinched. "They are right. There is nothing you can do," she said quietly.

"They all know, they all saw who it was. I feel like a fool," she growled. She bit her lip. "Why me? I thought you would be the first."

"We all did. Now however, it is you not I."

"Lady Ailith!"

They both turned and looked up at Háma. His eyes flicked past them to the flowers in Ailith's bridle and his mouth twitched with a smile.

"Lady Ailith, your presence is requested in the Golden Hall," he called. She exchanged a wary glance with Éowyn and then gathered up her skirts and ran to the Hall.

The men who had ridden into Edoras earlier that day were seated at the trestle tables by the fire. As they ate, their eyes watched her make her solitary way up the hall. Théoden was on his throne; the men's leader standing slightly to one side, his helmet respectfully in the crook of his arm. He looked vaguely familiar to Ailith.

She curtseyed.

"She has her mother's face," the man said.

"Child, do you like it here?" Théoden asked her. She looked up in surprise.

"Meduseld has been my home for nine years, my lord. You have treated me as one of your own," she said cautiously.

"Yet it is not your home and however dear you are to me, you are not my own. Would you like to see your home again?" he said. She didn't answer. He sighed and sat back in his throne. "This is Folcred," he said, indicating the man. "He is Captain of your father's men and he has come to take you back to the Wold."

"Must I?"

The question slipped out before she could stop it. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor and tried to hide her trembling hands in the folds of her dress.

Folcred strode towards her. She peeked up at him through her lashes.

"Your father wishes to see you again, child. You should be more respectful," he said firmly. He started to pace around her.

"Can you read?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Do you know herb-lore?"

"Yes."

"Can you ride?"

She gave him a filthy look. "I'm Rohirrim. I ride as easily as I breathe."

He laughed. "Good. You are not entirely a lady of the court. We leave tomorrow."

He turned and started to walk towards his men.

"Tomorrow?" she said in a hollow voice. "That soon?"

"The North waits for no Man," he said coldly. "We would be leaving today if our horses did not need to rest."

She looked down at the floor again. One more night in Edoras. One more night with her friends.


	7. Blood Sisters

"I can't believe you are leaving us," Éowyn said. Ailith didn't reply. She just concentrated on running the comb through Éowyn's blonde waves. "You were just beginning to be courted as well," her friend continued. Ailith stopped.

"Well, that's just bad luck to my suitor, whoever he is," she said. She pulled the comb again through Éowyn's hair. "I didn't want a suitor anyway," she muttered. "At least now I can avoid the embarrassment of finding out who it is."

"Imagine if it was my brother!" Éowyn laughed. Ailith gasped in horror.

"Or Théodred! That would be awful, I wouldn't be able to look them in the eye again! They are more like brothers to me!"

She dived sideways onto the bed with a wail of hysteria. Éowyn laughed and stood up. She picked up the comb and crossed to the chest with Ailith's clothes.

"Can you take any of these with you?" she asked, opening it and running her fingers over the fabrics.

"I think the Captain is wanting to get back home as quickly as possible. I doubt I will be allowed to take my possessions," Ailith said mournfully, propping herself up on her elbows.

"It doesn't feel like you are going home. It feels like you are being banished!" Éowyn suddenly sobbed. She ran across the room and hugged her friend to her tightly. "You won't forget me, will you?" she wept.

"You have been my friend since I arrived here," Ailith said, hugging her back. "You are my sister in everything but blood..."

Her voice faltered and she sat up quickly. "Let's become blood sisters!" she breathed, her eyes shining.

"Blood sisters?" Éowyn stammered.

"Yes!"

Ailith scurried over to where her practice sword and small dirk hung on a hook by the door. She unsheathed the dirk and carried it back to the bed.

"We make a small cut on our hands and we press them together and make a vow to each other," she explained hurriedly. Éowyn frowned and then she smiled bravely. She took the dirk off Ailith and dug the blade in her white palm. The blood blossomed slowly from the tiny nick. Ailith also pressed it into her hand and then clasped Éowyn's.

"What are we going to say for our vow?" Éowyn giggled.

"Uh, I, Ailith, daughter of Ailred, vow to come to the aid of my sister, Éowyn, whenever she has need of me. Together, we shall defend Rohan like the Shieldmaidens of old," Ailith said shakily.

"I, Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, vow to come to the aid of my sister, Ailith, whenever she has need of me. Together, we shall defend Rohan like the Shieldmaidens of old," Éowyn repeated.

They smiled at each other, their hands still entwined. Now they were sisters, in mind and in blood.


	8. Leaving

Ailith led her mare from her stall.

"No, child. You can't use that horse. She won't be used to the distance we have to travel or the pace we have to set," Folcred said behind her.

"Can I take anything with me?" she replied angrily. He grabbed her bandaged hand and examined it critically.

"This won't make the riding any easier for you," he said. She snatched it back.

"I'm well aware of that," she said. Her mare nuzzled her affectionately and then turned and walked back into her stall.

"We have a horse ready for you," Folcred said. She looked past him to the waiting stallion and laughed shakily.

"You expect me to ride all the way to the Wold on a horse I've never ridden before," she said incredulously. When he didn't answer, she shoved past him with her saddle and slung it over the horse's back.

"I can do it myself!" she said shrilly when he stepped up to help her. She blew out a shaky breath and tried to push violets from her mind.

She mounted the horse. He trotted away obediently when she dug her heels in his flanks.

Théoden was standing at the top of the steps of Meduseld, the court about him. Ailith glanced up at them and then looked straight ahead. She did not want them to see her cry. Their final sight of her was not going to be a tear-stained face.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her King raise a hand to Folcred. A pale figure leant against one dressed in Rider green. She tried to ignore them. She had to remain strong.

As they passed through the gates of Edoras, she slumped forward in her saddle and let the tears fall.

"When you left the Wold, you were not so tearful," Folcred noted, bringing his horse alongside hers.

"When I left the Wold, I had fewer people to say goodbye to," she replied stiffly. "When will we reach it?"

"Tomorrow evening."

She stared at him. Fresh tears sprang up, tears of anger instead of grief.

"Tomorrow evening! It took Father and I _four days _to make the journey before! How can we possibly do it in _two!"_ she spluttered. He met her gaze coolly.

" The North waits for no Man. You will match our pace or we will leave you behind," was all he said. He flicked the reins of his horse and moved to the head of the party. When there, he rose in his stirrups and gave the shout meaning to increase the speed.

Ailith gritted her teeth. They wanted to test her, fine. She could keep up with them.


	9. A Disappointment

**AN: I've written the next part too so I will try to upload it later today. Thanks to everyone for reading my work!**

Every part of Ailith seemed to ache. She was sore, she was dirty and she felt like she had been on the horse forever. She gazed groggily at the horizon. There was her birthplace; the Fortress of Wold.

The Wold itself was a series of rolling chalk hills, all grass and sheep with small communities scattered across them. On the highest stood the Fortress. If it once had a name, it had long been lost to history. It was a single stone keep surrounded by a thick stone wall, built with the single-minded purpose of with-standing whatever various evil forces cared to try and attack it.

Finally, Folcred raised a hand and the Riders slowed their horses. The Fortress loomed closer and closer until it seemed to be impossibly large. As they approached the first of the gates, the doors quickly opened to receive them. In, through the gates, under the murder hole and through the inner gate. Stable-hands sprung forward to grab the reins of the horses.

Ailith swung off her horse with her usual arrogance but as soon as her feet hit the compacted earth of the courtyard, her legs buckled and she had to grab the saddle to stop herself from falling.

"Woah there," a voice said. A pair of hands caught her under the arms and relieved the pressure off her legs.

"Thank you," she mumbled without looking round and walked shakily after Folcred's disappearing back.

He led her up the wooden steps into the imposing Great Hall. Most childhood memories of rooms make the room appear to be larger than it actually is. To Ailith, the beams on the ceiling seemed as high as ever. Folcred was holding a door open at the far end. She nearly whimpered when she saw a spiral staircase beyond. Somehow she managed to climb the steps, her leg muscles screaming at her.

The room at the top was almost empty save for some chairs and a table with a map of Middle Earth laid across it. As Ailith nervously glanced around, Folcred pushed past her to join the hulking figure by the fireplace. A door opened and two others joined them, a middle-aged woman helping a very old man. She settled him into a chair and then swept towards Ailith. She paced around her and then said despairingly "She is too skinny."

She stopped in front of her. Ailith met her icy gaze.

"Do you know herb-lore?" the woman said.

"Yes. Rosemary is for remembrance-" Ailith stuttered but the woman cut her off.

"Petty court gibberish," she sighed. "Tell me, how would one use aconite to treat an inflammation of the stomach?"

"Um, would you make a tea?" Ailith tried but the woman laughed, a single sharp note that tore through her.

"With aconite? Aconite is a poison, child, it shouldn't be anywhere near a patient!"

She shook her head sadly and walked back across the room. The old man in the chair raised his head and fixed Ailith with a beady eye.

"If two men came to you with a dispute over the ownership of a horse," he said in a quavering voice, "how would you determine the truth?"

Now she was panicking. She had never in her wildest dreams expected to arrive home to an interrogation. Who were these strangers? Where was her father?

"I'm not entirely certain, my lord. I think I would listen to the accounts of both men," she said but again she was silenced, this time by a wave of a hand.

"Foolish child. The horse, the horse will recognise its true master! We are the Horse People, in them we lay our trust!" he said imperiously. The bear-like figure who had been waiting in the room when she arrived now stepped forward and it took everything in her not to step back. He was massive, over six foot tall with muscles bulging under his shirt. He had thick black hair and a wild tangle of a beard and two black eyes that seemed to bore right into her.

"Nine years we wait. And instead of the educated pair of hands we expect, we get a soft-headed lady of the court!" he growled.

"We had to send her away. She would have gone the same way as her mother if we hadn't and a fine mess we would be in now," the woman said in a low voice.

"We are in a fine mess. She is of no use to us like this," he said angrily.

"You are going to cast her aside just like that?" a voice said from behind Ailith. It was the voice of the man who had caught her when she nearly fell in the courtyard. She glanced at him over her shoulder. He was dressed all in grey and black, his dark hair brushing his shoulders and his blue eyes smiling at her encouragingly even while his face remained impassive..

"She completed the ride in two days on a horse she had never ridden before. Isn't that impressive?" he asked, addressing the room again.

"No-one asked for you to be present, Beleg," Folcred snapped.

"She has ridden long and hard and instead of giving her the welcome she deserves, you drag her up here and start to question her knowledge!" Beleg said hotly. "I am the only family she has left and I say-"

"What? How can you be my only family! I've never even met you! Where is my father?" Ailith cried. Beleg glanced at her in disbelief and then glared at the four by the fireplace.

"You are many things, Grimfast, but I didn't think you were a cruel man. Or was it you, Merewald, who decided that she would not be told?"

Merewald swelled with anger.

"The Lord is tired, he needs his rest," she said.

"The Lady hasn't seen him for nine years. I think five minutes of his Lordship's rest will not harm him," Beleg countered. Merewald lips pursed but she beckoned to Ailith and led her out of the room.

"Do not say anything to him," she said sharply as she led Ailith through the keep. "We will be lucky if he is awake, he is usually asleep by this hour."

She opened a door and bustled through it.

"Good evening, my lord! You have a visitor!" Ailith heard her say brightly. Ailith stepped nervously over the threshold. This room swam with nostalgia. The tapestries on the wall; the wolf-skin rugs on the stone floor; the massive bed covered in furs; all of it brought up powerful memories of her childhood. She noticed the figure lying in the bed and fought down a sob.

The last time she saw her father, he was ageing but as fit as any Rider of the Mark. The image of him riding away from Edoras, his armour gleaming, his cloak billowing behind him, his golden hair shining in the sunlight, would be imprinted on her memory forevermore. Not the weak little body lying swaddled in bedclothes. A pair of bleary eyes opened and tried to focus on her.

"Gléowyn?" Ailred whispered hoarsely. A tiny moan of horror escaped from deep inside her. He reached out a withered hand, his signet ring slipping down his finger. Merewald motioned for Ailith to step forward and take his hand. She did so and tried not to cry as the ice-cold fingers gripped hers stiffly. "Gléowyn, my love," her father crooned. "Where is our little sunbeam? Where is Ailith?"

She felt like she was falling backwards. She didn't understand; she wanted her father.

"She's playing outside," she lied. It seemed to be the safest thing to say. Ailred sighed happily and shut his eyes. His breathing eased and eventually the grip on Ailith's hand loosened. She pulled her hand away quickly.

"He thinks I am Mother," she said quietly. Merewald approached her and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Be thankful he recognises you as anybody, child. His illness has eaten away at his memory," she said kindly. She steered the girl out of the bedchamber. As soon as the door closed behind them, the sympathetic and almost matronly air about her vanished.

"Tomorrow morning, you will come to me and I will give you a list of herbs and what they look like. You will go out and find them for me," she ordered. Ailith opened her mouth to complain but the older woman got there first.

"You are a disappointment to us, child. We have no use for disappointments; everyone must pull their own weight here. We don't make allowances, no matter who you are. The North waits for no Man," she said and then swept away, leaving Ailith alone in the corridor.

Ailith may have been born here, this may have been her home, but it had never felt so unwelcoming and alien to her. She remembered her little room in Meduseld - where she felt so welcome, so wanted - and she broke down in tears. She wanted her father. She wanted to go home.


	10. The Reason You Were Brought Here

Ailith read the list with horror. Half of the herbs she had never heard of before. She bit her lip and then tucked the small piece of parchment into a pouch on her belt. She picked up her short practice sword and sheathed it before tying her cloak on her shoulders and making her way to the courtyard.

The huge beast of a man with black hair was in the courtyard, running through training exercises with some of the men. When she walked down the steps, they stopped. A few bowed to her but he stared at her coldly. His eyes flicked to the sword at her side.

"Let me see that," he rumbled. She hastily drew it and handed it to him.

"Can you use this toy?" he asked as he examined the blade and tested the balance.

"It's not a toy!" she snapped. "It was made for me by the Royal Armourer; its twin is borne by the Lady Éowyn, the King's niece!"

He laughed darkly and threw it at her. She caught it one-handed as he drew his own great-sword.

"This, child, is a sword."

His blade whipped round and met hers with a clash. The little sword jerked out her hand and went bouncing away across the ground.

"I wasn't ready!" she complained. His eyes darkened and he raised his sword so the tip of the blade was under her chin.

"When an orc is swinging his blade at you; when a Warg charges you down; when one of the name-less horrors of Mirkwood is prowling in the darkness; you must be ready. If you want to bear a sword, learn how to use it properly. It will mean the difference between life and death."

He turned and walked away.

"Don't worry, little Rohiril," a voice said behind her. Beleg walked past her and scooped up her sword. "This is a good sword," he said as he handed it back to her. "Grimfast is right though, it is a toy. If you want to learn to fight with a sword properly then you should get a new one."

She sheathed it irritably.

"You said we were family," she said. He smiled.

"My mother was your mother's oldest sister. I believe that constitutes a family bond. And I think, since you cannot handle a blade properly, I should accompany you on the grand herb expedition."

"In the unlikely event that I am attacked, I will be fine!" she snapped. He gave her a little mocking bow but still led her from the Fortress.

They walked across the hills, Beleg pointing out the little hamlets to her. Any shepherds they met bowed to Ailith respectfully and then Beleg introduced them properly. After the fifth time, she asked him why.

"You must know your people, little Rohiril," she was told. "They will look to you in times of hardship and they will receive more comfort from someone who knows them personally as opposed to the grandly dressed figure who occasionally rides past their homes."

After an hour's walk, they arrived on the flora-covered banks of a river. They walked along the water's edge, Beleg pointing out various plants and their uses. Where one corresponded to Merewald's list, they picked it.

"And this, little Rohiril, is a cowslip. If you make it into a tea, it helps with insomnia. You can also use it to treat lung disorders," Beleg said. Ailith took the small yellow flower from him.

"There are so many. How do I know which ones I need when?"

"It will come to you in time. Besides, the only herb you will ever need is this one," he said. From some inner pocket, he drew a small-leafed green herb. "Athelas," he said. "Known by some as Kingsfoil."

She took it warily.

"How do I use it?" she asked.

"It calms the mind when crushed and added to boiling water. A useful property when you are trying to heal someone panicked or in shock. Promise me that you will always carry some."

"It's not on Merewald's list," she said. He sighed.

"Little Rohiril, Merewald is not the Lady of the Wold. You are."

"Why do you call me that? Aren't you of the Rohirrim as well?" she asked, looking at the rippling waters of the river.

"My mother was one of the Rohirrim, as you know. My father was not and I was raised by his people in the North," he said.

"We are North," she replied, causing him to laugh heartily.

"Do not let Grimfast hear you say that. This is not North. Grimfast is from lands North of here and my people's lands are even further North," he chuckled.

"Grimfast scares me," she admitted, bringing fresh laughter from him.

"He scares a lot of people. He is a Beorning; they aren't known for their compassion."

"So, what are you?" she asked.

"I am Dúnadan."

He said it proudly, as if it was a great honour or title. Ailith had heard of the Dúnedain in stories but she had always thought that they were merely a legend. A race of Men for others to aspire to.

"Do they really exist?" she said.

"Of course they do!" he said indignantly. "I am one and I exist!"

"You are half a Dúnadan!" she laughed.

"I was born among them, I was raised among them, I am one of them!" he said. "I know where my people are."

"So do I. I have half a mind to get back on my horse and ride to Edoras. I don't feel welcome here," she said sadly. He sighed again and fixed her with a glare.

"What I am about to tell you, you cannot repeat to anyone. Your father is dying and with no male heir, Merewald, Grimfast, Folcred, Léonere, all of them are terrified," he said. "The Wold has been governed by your family for generations. Things have not changed for centuries. With no male heir, the King must appoint a new Lord to the Fortress and with a new Lord will come changes, changes they won't like."

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" she asked.

"You are fifteen. By the time you are twenty, you could take the Oath of the Riders and rule the Fortress on behalf of your father until you have a son of your own to carry on the line."

It was so ridiculous, she didn't know whether she should laugh in his face or walk away in pure disbelief.

"A female Rider?" she said derisively. "I could never do that! And Folcred and Grimfast, I can't see them letting me become a Rider."

Beleg smiled thinly.

"I'm sorry, little Rohiril, but you are already being trained for it. The ride here was your first test. You completed it in two days."

"Folcred said he would leave me if I didn't keep up!" she complained.

"If it looked like you were struggling, he would have slowed the pace! You are the only child of his Lord, he wouldn't leave you on the Plains by yourself! Grimfast may terrify you but he is easily one of the best warriors in the country and he will train you to the best of his abilities if you so ask! I can't stay with you forever but Merewald and Léonere will serve you for as long as they have breath in their bodies. Merewald has a knowledge of herb-lore unlike anything I have seen outside of my own people and Léonere knows nearly every law, custom and tradition of Rohan. However, they need a leader, they know that themselves. Without a single unifying force, they scrap at each other's throats constantly. Without a Lord they are lost, so they tried to compensate with the closest thing, a Lady. That is why you were brought home from Edoras."

"Then I have no choice in the matter," she said sadly. "The North waits for no Man." He raised his eyebrows.

"You keep saying that and they will definitely follow you," he said drily.

"Do you really think I could do it?" she said eventually.

"You most certainly could, my little Rohiril," he smiled.


	11. Time Moves

**AN: Another chapter that was difficult to write. Thank you to my reviewers and followers, it makes me smile every time I see a new one. :)**

Her sword parried his easily. Quickly, she brought the blade round again and sent his bouncing away. She flicked hers against his chest and he froze.

"Yield?" she said, grinning at her opponent. He nodded curtly. As she stepped backwards, gruff laughter echoed around the courtyard.

"Excellent milady!" Grimfast roared, his massive hands coming together in applause. Ailith bobbed a curtsey, her grin still plastered across her face.

In three years, she had come far. Her father had died peacefully in his sleep during her first winter on the Wold. He had been buried outside the Fortress walls and every citizen of the Wold had made the journey to pay their respects. Ailith had stood by the grave with Merewald, her long veil hiding her lack of tears. To her, her father had died many years before. Now his body had followed his mind. She now wore his signet ring on the middle finger of her right hand. It was her only nod to the stewardship of her office.

Since his death, she had worked twice as hard. As well as sword-practice with Grimfast, she learnt how to ride a war horse and throw a spear from Folcred and learnt basic healing arts from Merewald. She took Beleg's advice to get to know her people and opened the Hall during her meals. While she and the men ate, the farmers and shepherds could come and eat with them and tell her or Léonere about any problems they had. In the evenings, she sat with Léonere and learnt the laws of Rohan. Some nights, Grimfast and Léonere told her stories. The vanquishing of the Sorcerer of Dol Guldur; the Halfling and the Thirteen Dwarves; the fall of Moria; as many as they could remember.

Every night she slept the dreamless sleep of the exhausted as her muscles lengthened and toned and the skin on her hands became hard from her constant handling of swords and leather. Her life in Edoras could have been a distant memory. Rarely did she wear dresses now; her clothes consisted of shirts and riding trousers, her strawberry blonde curls tumbling down her back when they weren't tied back by a piece of twine.

She left the men in the courtyard and walked back to her chambers. She had taken her father's room when he had died. Léonere had insisted. One of the maids had filled a bath for her. She fetched some lavender from her own personal herb store and sprinkled it in the water.

The dust and the sweat slowly washed off her as she tipped the water over herself. When she was clean, she sat in the bath and checked her bruises from training. Finally, she traced the small scar on her palm.

"Like the Shieldmaidens of old," she said quietly. Someone knocked on the door. "One moment," she called. She climbed out of the bath and dried herself quickly. She pulled on an old pair of riding trousers and a loose woollen shirt and crossed the room to open the door.

"Oh, it's you, Dúnadan," she said. Beleg pushed past her, a frown on his face. "What's wrong?" she asked as she shut the door.

"I am sorry, little Rohiril. I have to go away," he said absent-mindedly.

"Oh. For how long this time?"

He had been away before, often for months at a time, but he always returned.

"I'm not returning," he said. "I've received word from my Chieftain. Shadows are moving which have not stirred for centuries."

"So you are leaving us for good."

He chuckled and looked around the room.

"I am going to miss this place. And I wish I could see you complete your training. You will make a formidable Rider, Ailith. They will write sagas about you," he said, reaching out a hand and stroking some wet hair off her face.

He pulled her into his embrace.

"Thank for all your help, Beleg. Tell your people that they are always welcome here. As long as my kin govern the Fortress, your kin may seek sanctuary with us," she said quietly.

That evening, after she had bidden Beleg goodbye, Léonere limped over to her in the Great Hall.

"My lady, there is something you should see," he whispered in her ear. She made her excuses and followed him outside.

A shepherd was standing next to a sheep's carcass. She gagged at the stench of decay and then stepped closer.

"These tears here," she said, indicating on the body, "they look like they were made by a wolf but they are far too large."

"A Warg, milady. A pack has come down from the Mountains," the shepherd said. "They are attacking our livestock and we are terrified that it will be our homes next."

She met Léonere's gaze and then nodded.

"Speak to Léonere, my steward here, and he will sort out compensation for the loss of your livestock. I shall speak to the Captain of my Riders and we shall deal with the problem swiftly," she said with an encouraging smile. The shepherd touched his forelock respectfully.

Quickly, she made her way back into the hall and tapped Folcred on the shoulder.

"Warg attack. Sober up, I want this dealt with tonight," she ordered. He thumped his tankard on the table.

"Ride out with us," he said. She paused and looked at him carefully, trying to gauge if he was joking.

"Sober up, Folcred. A drunken Rider is of no use to me, a drunken Captain doubly so!" she said grimly.

"I mean it. You can ride, you can use that damn sword of yours and frankly if there is a pack of Wargs running around, we are going to need as many blades as possible," he replied and Ailith could see that there was complete truth in his eyes. "Grimfast!" he shouted across the hall. The Beorning stopped and looked at them expectantly.

"Do you think the Lady Ailith could join us on a Warg hunt?" the Captain shouted. Grimfast grinned horribly and raised his own tankard in a toast.

"I have no armour!" Ailith protested.

"That leather jerkin with mail sown into the lining that you wear for sword practice, that will give you some protection. Ride in the centre of the group and you will be perfectly safe, my lady," the Captain said.

She bit her lip and then nodded weakly.

The Riders mustering in the courtyard was always an impressive sight but tonight Ailith barely noticed it. She concentrated on her own horse, ensuring that he would be fit for the night's work. The leather jerkin she wore for practice felt flimsy compared to the mail shirts of her Riders. As she mounted her horse, Grimfast trotted towards her on his own vast mount.

"I will stay close to you tonight, my lady. This skirmish is to give you experience of the battlefield, not to let you start fighting. You may defend yourself, of course, but I will be there to make sure you don't get seriously hurt."

She nodded thankfully as Folcred gave the cry to move out. The Wold was dimly bathed in silver moonlight; there would be no need to light torches this night. The Riders moved like shadows across the grass. In the distant, they could hear the snarling and yelping of the Wargs. Spears were raised in anticipation; blades slipped from their sheaths. Ailith unsheathed her own sword and gripped it firmly. Her hand shook with the sudden weight of the steel.

With a dreadful battle-cry, Folcred crested the hill and led them right into the middle of the pack. The Wargs broke apart, snapping and growling at the horses. Ailith started to whimper under her breath. The stink of the Wargs, the thundering of hooves, the glint of the swords and the eyes of the Wargs in the moonlight, it all swirled around her, sucking her into the maelstrom of horror.

A Warg snapped at the legs of her horse. He nimbly jumped away as she clumsily swung her sword at the beast. It bit into the back of the Warg's neck and it collapsed with a grunt. As she swung her sword up, its blood sprayed across her face. Some of it landed in her open mouth, bitter and metallic on her tongue. She laughed and behind her she heard the answering boom of Grimfast.

Neither saw the other Warg keeping pace alongside them. Neither heard its threatening growl through their laughter. It crouched low against the grass and then pounced at the horse and its rider.


	12. Oaths

"What were you thinking?!" Merewald shouted. Folcred tried to remain composed but Merewald in one of her rages was worse than all the name-less horrors of Dol Guldur at the gates of the Fortress. Children hid, the men walked with down-turned faces and the women exchanged frightened looks when word spread of the Healer's dark mood.

She dumped some foul smelling herbs in boiling water and started to mix a thick paste. She was physically trembling with anger, her knuckles white against the bowl.

"Stop your noise, child!" she snapped at her patient. Ailith stopped crying instantly. Merewald was the only person who still frequently called her a child and it humiliated her every time.

"It hurts!" she whimpered. Merewald rolled her eyes and spread some of the paste over the deep gashes in Ailith's side. The Warg had just missed her, its claws only raking her side. It was a miracle.

"There is no pain like that of childbirth. Wait until you are trying to bring new life into the world; then you will know the meaning of pain," Merewald muttered. She helped Ailith to sit up and then started to wind bandages around her. "That is going to scar, I'm afraid. A good reminder for you not to act so rashly in the future," she sniffed, clearing up her materials.

Grimfast entered Ailith's chambers, his arm in a sling and his face pale under his beard.

"You were supposed to protect her!" Merewald screamed even before the door had closed behind him. He flinched as she advanced on him.

"We need her! How _dare_ you compromise us like that! Suppose she ended up in the belly of a Warg tonight, would you be the one to ride and tell the King? Tell him how we have failed, tell him how we need a new Lord to come and force his ways upon us!" she bellowed. She stopped to take a few deep breaths and then pinned Grimfast and Folcred down with an icy eye. "If you ever put her in danger like that again, I will cut off your beards! And that will only be the start!" she snarled. She gathered up her Healing materials and herded the men from Ailith's room. Ailith felt her side and winced. The smallest touch sent pain blossoming through her.

* * *

"My lady, you need some new clothes," her maid said timidly. Ailith glanced up from the document she was reading.

"Fine. If you want me to make them, then you will be waiting a long time. I was always hopeless at sewing," she smiled. She stood up and held out her arms as the maid circled her, taking measurements. She winced as pressure was accidently put on her scars.

"Sorry, my lady!" the maid cringed. She smiled weakly.

"It's still a little bit tender. Why are you taking such tight measurements anyway? I don't need any new shirts," she asked. The maid paused.

"Lady Merewald thought you would like some new dresses for your birthday," she said flatly. Ailith sat back in her chair and regarded the girl coolly.

"Hala, would you be lying to me?" she said playfully. The girl blushed and hurried from the room. Ailith smiled and turned back to the document. She couldn't help but wonder what Merewald was planning.

* * *

She soon found out. On the evening of her birthday, she returned to her chambers after a gruelling hour with Léonere in the map-room to discover her new _dresses_ lying on her bed. She picked up the chainmail shirt. It was beautiful craftsmanship, the fine links embossed at the shoulders with golden leaves. She looked through the other clothes, the riding trousers, the breastplate. Lastly, she unfolded the cloak. Her father's cloak. Rider green, with a small ivory clasp in the shape of a horse.

"Do you like it?" Merewald said from the doorway. She turned, her face beaming.

"I love it," she said truthfully.

"Since Folcred and Grimfast think that you are capable of joining them on raids, we thought it was time you had proper armour," the Healer sniffed, her eyes flashing dangerously. "In fact," she said lightly, stepping forward to join Ailith by the armour. "We thought you might like to wear it tonight. To take the Oath of the Riders."

"Do you think I am ready?" Ailith asked timidly.

"No."

Ailith stared down at the armour. Her eyes welled with tears and she angrily wiped them away.

"Honestly child, don't cry," Merewald said firmly. "None of those _boys_ are ever ready to take their oaths as far as I'm concerned. Grimfast and Folcred insist that you are ready, as they always do. Come, I will help you to get ready."

Her Riders were waiting in the Great Hall. Some effort had been made to neaten up; beards and hair had been combed, armour had been cleaned. She appreciated it.

Léonere was waiting on the raised dais that usually held the High Table. She walked proudly towards him, her father's cloak billowing behind her and tried not to grimace as she knelt in front of him. Her half-healed wounds throbbed under the chainmail as her muscles moved.

She carefully recited the words of the Oath. She had heard them a hundred times before, in both Meduseld and the Fortress. Every word she pronounced clearly, her eyes never moving from Léonere's. When she was finished, he motioned for her to stand. She turned to face her new brothers and they raised their tankards to toast her, the new Rider of the Riddermark.


	13. Old Friends, New Enemies

**AN: Sorry people, it's a long one! Thanks to everyone for reading this, and all the followers, reviewers etc! :)**

* * *

"Tell me, are we really still in Rohan?" Éomer joked as he lead his horsemen on. One of the younger lads gave him a lazy grin.

"Aye, milord! The Wold stretches for many leagues, all the way to the Limlight," he said.

"Does it always play mind tricks like this? I could have sworn that the Fortress seems no closer," someone else grumbled.

"What do we do when we arrive there? Just ride up to the gate and demand to see Lord Ailred?" a third asked.

"We ride under the King's banner! And even if we didn't, I am a friend of Lord Ailred's daughter. She wouldn't turn us away," Éomer said. The last was said with doubt, making his men glance at him.

It had been eight years since Ailith had left Edoras. Eight years, and no word had come from the North. That wasn't unusual but both Éomer and his sister, especially Éowyn, would have liked a letter every now and then. However, there was only silence from the Wold. It was like she had vanished from the face of Middle Earth.

"I don't think there is any worry of them not knowing us," the one who seemed to know the most about the Wold was saying.

"Why do you say that?" Éomer asked. The Rider rose in his stirrups and pointed.

"Because they are riding out to meet us," he said.

Sure enough, a small group of Riders was galloping towards them. As the two groups met, the leader of the Riders from the Fortress raised his fist and they slowed. Éomer did the same and the two groups of horsemen drew to a halt, their horses prancing nervously.

"Who are you who rides under the King's banner?" the leader proclaimed. Éomer recognised him as the Captain who had escorted Ailith away.

"We ride from Edoras," he replied.

"That much is obvious. We know every man on the Wold and your faces are not familiar to us. Besides, you hide behind your helms. How are we to know if you are friend or foe?" the Captain replied coldly.

Éomer removed his helmet angrily.

"Now you look upon my face clearly! I am the Third Marshall of the Riddermark, I am the nephew of the King! Friend or foe?" he spat.

"Friend, I think!" a voice called.

One of the horsemen behind the Captain twitched his horse's reins and walked forward. He had a clean-shaven face and bright blue eyes and was strangely familiar to Éomer. He too removed his helmet and, with shock, Éomer found himself looking at someone dirty, dusty but definitely familiar.

"Ailith?" he spluttered. She grinned wickedly.

"It's good to see you again, Éomer," she said. "Come, let us ride for the Fortress. Night is approaching and the Wold is not always safe when darkness falls."

She turned her horse and spurred it back towards the Fortress. Her Riders turned with her and left the Edoras Riders sitting stunned on their horses.

"A female Rider?" one of them said.

"Maybe she just rides with them. Ailith was always eager to learn how to ride a horse and handle a sword," Éomer explained. He watched her billowing cloak in the distance. What trouble had she gotten herself into now, he wondered.

* * *

Ailith and her Riders had already dismounted when they reached the safety of the Fortress.

"I think we have enough room to stable all the horses," Ailith said as Éomer brought his horse alongside her. He passed the reins to a stable lad and dismounted.

"So. Eight years. Why didn't you write?" he asked, turning towards her. She shrugged and pulled her gloves off.

"I wasn't aware that you wanted me to. I've been busy. I've had a lot of duties and responsibilities since I came home."

She looked up at him and for the first time, the old friends studied each other's faces properly. Éomer was surprised to see how much Ailith had changed. Her blue eyes sparkled against her sun-beaten face, her freckles spiralling across her nose and cheeks. His eyes drifted from the shadows under her eyes to the thin white scar above her left eyebrow.

"Orc blade," she said cheerfully. "It's not that bad. I have three down my side from a Warg."

She spread her arms wide.

"Are you going to give me a proper greeting now?" she asked, her mouth curving into its familiar mischievous smile. He glanced around at the watching men and then looked back at her. She raised her eyebrows expectantly. He looked around again and then stepped towards her.

Next thing he knew, she had wrapped an arm around his neck and had him doubled over in a headlock.

"You've grown a beard!" she hollered over the laughter of the Riders. "By Béma, that is the funniest thing I have seen in many a year!"

She released him but managed to tug his whiskers playfully before she skipped backwards out of his reach.

"You wildcat!" he laughed whilst rubbing his chin. "You haven't changed at all, have you?"

She grinned, her eyes still raking across his features. Her smile faded slightly.

"It's good to see you again," she said sincerely. "Speak to my steward. You and your men shall have anything you desire while you stay here."

* * *

"Fill the bath for me, Hala. Léonere is organising a feast for our guests and I will be hung from the battlements if I am not clean," Ailith joked, striding into her chambers. Her maid curtseyed and fetched the large bronze bath tub from its hook.

"He's very handsome," Hala gushed as she poured some of the pre-heated water into the tub. Ailith stopped peeling off her riding boots and looked at her maid with confusion. Hala blushed hotly. "Lord Éomer," she explained. "Do you not find him handsome, my lady?"

Ailith kicked off one of her boots. She thought about his hazel eyes, his kind smile. Yes, she could see it.

"I suppose he is," she admitted. "He is like a brother to me. I find it difficult to think of him in that way."

She stripped off the rest of her clothes and climbed into the hot water. With a luxuriant sigh, she started to scrub her arms and legs. Hala tipped some water and scented oil over her head and began to comb the strawberry-blonde locks. Merewald slipped into the room, blue cloth folded over her arm.

"No!" Ailith said when she saw it.

"Hush, child. It will look beautiful on you," the older woman said, laying the dress on Ailith's bed.

"Merewald, I have not worn a dress in seven years; why should I stop now because an old friend has come to visit," Ailith said as she stood up. Hala helped her into her robe and she crossed to her bed to scrutinise the dress.

"There is an old story about a stallion and a mare," Merewald said. "When they were merely a filly and a colt, they played together every day in a river by their herd's grazing grounds."

"I know this story," Ailith said. "One day, a neighbouring stallion took over their herd and drove all the young colts away. When the mare and the stallion were fully grown, they met again by the river where they once played. By the end of the day, they were mates for life. The stallion even forsook all other mares for her. It's a fairy story. It would never happen in reality. Why did you bring it up?"

"We have a mare. We have a stallion. We need a foal for our herd to continue," Merewald said matter-of-factly.

Ailith took a step back.

"No. Definitely not, not Éomer," she said shakily. "I can't."

"You can and you will. You serve the Wold, remember. Now, put that dress on," said Merewald. She pulled some wet hair off Ailith's cheek. "You will look beautiful tonight, my lady," she murmured.

* * *

Éomer shifted uneasily in Grimfast's shadow. The Beorning took a long drink of ale, one of his dark eyes fixed upon the younger man.

"So, you let the Lady Ailith ride with you?" Éomer asked.

"She has earned the right to," Grimfast replied. "She has taken the Oath and we need every blade we can gather."

"Are women allowed to take the Oath?"

"It was once done. The Shieldmaidens defended our land alongside the Eorlingas. The Lady has the blood and the skill; there is no reason why she shouldn't be a Rider," Léonere said. Éomer shifted again. He felt uncomfortable around Grimfast due to the man's threatening appearance and growling voice, that was only natural. It was Léonere's peculiar quavering voice and piercing blue eyes that were more unsettling. The Steward seemed to know exactly what Éomer was thinking. He was also simply the oldest man Éomer had ever seen. He could have easily seen at least ninety winters, no mean feat at all, and from the looks of him, he could quite comfortably welcome a few more.

"Good evening my lords," Ailith called from behind him. He half-turned and stared at her. She was garbed in a dress of the same deep blue as her eyes, her hair pulled off her face in an intricate braid. Ailith was not a naturally pretty girl. She was pleasant on the eye, that was certain, but it took extra effort to make her look as beautiful as she did this night.

"I have to thank you on behalf on my maid," she said jokingly. "Hala has been itching to braid my hair since she came into my service and you have finally given her the opportunity."

"One of your mother's dresses, I believe?" Léonere said. "It suits you well, my lady. You look the image of her."

"Thank you, Léonere," she smiled and took Éomer's offered arm. "I must thank you again for giving Léonere a chance to exercise the old etiquettes and protocols. He will be beside himself with glee," she muttered as they walked away. "I believe they have fetched some of the Mirkwood venison for us to eat."

"How old is he?" Éomer asked, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder. His drinking companions had now been joined by two others, Folcred the Captain and a middle-aged woman who watched the old friends move up the hall with cool eyes.

"Old enough to remember the Necromancer of Dol Gurdur and the darkness he spread across the land," Ailith replied. "He has also memorised nearly every law of Rohan and he is training the cook's son so when he dies, we may still benefit from his knowledge."

"You have a scholar, a Rider and a warrior," Éomer noted, a small smile playing across his face. "And the woman?"

Ailith bit her lip. She thought about her conversation in her chambers with Merewald and Hala; Merewald's persistence, Hala's attempt to bring her around, her own adamant stance.

"Merewald keeps the wheels turning. She thinks only of the future of the Fortress," she said curtly.

She suppressed a groan when she saw the seating arrangements. Clearly Merewald and Léonere were conspiring together. Three places had been laid at the High Table, the currently ceremonious place of the Lord, Ailith's own place to his left and another to her own left for Éomer. She knew perfectly well that over the noise of the Hall it would be impossible to be overheard. They could speak about whatever they pleased.

"Will your father be joining us tonight?" Éomer asked as he pulled out her chair.

"No. My father has been dead for almost seven years," she replied, taking her seat. Around the Hall, their Riders slid onto benches and servants scurried forward with platters and tankards.

"I am sorry to hear that. So, you are the Lord?" he said doubtfully, his gaze lingering on the ring around her finger. She smiled.

"I am merely governing until my son has reached an age where he can take up the lordship himself," she said.

"You have a son!" he exclaimed.

"Forgive me. My son who is still yet to be conceived," she explained. He raised his eyebrows and she looked away bashfully.

"And do you have a father in mind for this child or will he magically appear out of a hole in the ground?"

She didn't have to take this; old friend he may be but she would not let him speak to her in that way. This plot of Merewald's was completely idiotic. There was no way she could see him as anything but a friend.

"What makes you think _I _want to have a child?" she spat. "I am a Rider; my place is on horseback not by a cradle!"

He smiled.

"There is Ailith's tongue, I wondered which dark corner of the Fortress it had retreated to," he said mockingly.

"Ailith's tongue is like Ailith's sword; she has learned when best to use them," she retorted. She picked up her goblet and sipped her drink angrily. No, she would never be able to take him to her bed.

Across the hall, Merewald raised her head and looked straight at her. She raised her eyebrows and glanced pointedly towards Éomer. Ailith placed her goblet back on the table and took a deep, calming breath. He was a friend, there was no excuse for her to blame him for something he did not know about.

"So, speaking of children, how many does your sister have?" she said politely. Now it was Éomer's turn to be furtive.

"Éowyn has no children. She has not married, in fact," he said hesitantly.

"Oh. What about Théodred? Has he married?"

"No. Théodred has not married either."

"Éomer, has something happened?" she asked. His eyes met hers and then moved down to her hand stretching across the wooden table towards him. His lips parted, ready to speak.

"My lady, there is something you should see," a third voice said. She turned to see a guardsman standing at the foot of the dais. She glanced back at Éomer. He was fixated on his food, the moment between them was lost.

"Excuse me," she said to him, standing up. He stood as well.

"Oh no you don't. I want to see whatever this is too" he said.

"I will meet you in the courtyard in a few minutes," she said to the guardsman. "I just want a few words with Lord Éomer."

The guardsman nodded and turned smartly. Ailith swept towards the spiral stairs to the map room, Éomer following her. She climbed the steps and leant against the map.

"See this?" she asked Éomer when he joined her. She laid a finger on the Wold. "This is my family's holdings. From the Eastemnet to the Limlight, from Fangorn to the Anduin. We are the least-populated area of Rohan and we are the most remote. Edoras is four days ride away. When I came North, I had never seen a Warg or an orc. Now I have killed plenty of both. Life is hard but we manage. Everyone plays their part."

Éomer folded his arms. "We have skirmishes with orcs from the White Mountains back home. Don't act so hard done by," he said grimly.

"Two months ago, my scouts saw a party of dwarves crossing the lands to the North of us. They walked up the Dimrill Dale and vanished into the depths of Moria. Ever since then, the raids on the Wold have doubled, in retaliation or spite I do not know. What I do know is that if the dwarves are successful in retaking Moria, it will be Grimbeorn and me who will bear the brunt of the anger of the goblins," she replied. "The Fortress has been held by my family since the first brick was laid on this hill-top; I won't be the one to lose it."

Éomer met her steady gaze across the map. "You have grown into a formidable woman. Théodred was right to try to court you," he said softly.

Ailith's throat closed up. She choked and thumped her chest to try to clear her airways, violets swimming in front of her eyes.

"That was Théodred?" she spluttered. His brow furrowed but he nodded.

"I'm sorry, I thought you knew?" he said. She bit her lip and shook her head.

* * *

Outside was a sight that was all too common; a body in a cart. Ailith stepped closer, mindful of her beautiful dress.

"What is it?" she gasped.

"I am afraid I do not know, my lady," Léonere confessed. She stared at him.

"But you know every dark creature! How can you not know this one?" she asked. He spread his arms wide in protest.

"I swear to you, my lady, I do not know this creature. What do your eyes tell you?"

She turned back to the body.

"Well, it looks like an orc," she said carefully. "Except it is much larger. This is about the height of a Man; orcs are shorter."

"It is an Uruk," Éomer said shortly. Ailith glanced at him. He paused and then continued. "Things are not as green and idyllic in the South as you seem to think. We have been raided repeatedly by the Uruk-hai in the past year and reports from Gondor suggest that they are in a similar situation. Boromir, Lord Denethor's eldest, thinks the Uruks were bred in Mordor."

"Mordor?" Ailith said shakily. "Aye, and the fires of Barad-dûr shall burn once more and the Nine shall be seen riding in the night!"

Léonere gasped and hurriedly made an ancient sign against evil.

"You should not say such things!" he said.

Éomer chuckled. They both turned to glare at him and he raised his hands defensively.

"What?" she snapped.

"You. Giving orders and analyzing the enemy like an army commander. Formidable," he grinned. He strode off, shaking his head. Ailith watched him go and then turned her attention back to the dead Uruk.

"Like a Shieldmaiden," she said softly, stroking the scar on her palm. "I want to know more about these Uruk-hai," she added to Léonere. "And I think a report to the King is long over-due. When Lord Éomer returns South, I will travel with him and discover what I can. Will you manage without me for a while?"

"Of course. However, I fear Merewald won't like it," Léonere warned her.

"Merewald is not the Lady of the Fortress!" she replied sharply.

"Very well, my lady. I shall make the necessary arrangements," he said wearily and hobbled back inside.

Ailith tapped her foot, thinking. Old enemies stirring, new ones making themselves known. Could these be the shadows stirring that Beleg had warned her about?


	14. On the Banks of the Entwash

"We can ride faster!" Ailith complained. As one, the Riders grimaced. Not again.

"No, we can't," Éomer told her haughtily.

"Yes, we can! I made the journey in two days before. At this pace we will be lucky to reach Edoras within the week!" she cried.

"We left the Wold yesterday and she expects us to be riding into Edoras," someone muttered behind them. She turned her head, her mouth twisting slightly.

"Our horses are not accustomed to this distance," Éomer said quietly. "They have had little rest. Even during a Muster, they are given plenty of time to recover their strength."

"Do you want to stop for the night then?" she asked. She pointed to the silvery river in the distance. "That is the Entwash down there. It will have some good ground to camp on."

The Riders all exchanged looks. A low muttering came from behind her. She turned again and the muttering stopped.

"Excellent idea. We shall rest and cross the river tomorrow," Éomer said. She glanced at him but his face was as impassive as the rest of the Riders.

They stopped in a small dell by a bend in the river. It was well-protected from any wind by some scrubby bushes. The horses nestled together, their eyes watching their Riders.

"Caught us some conies!" a Rider brayed, striding back into the dell.

"Meat! Makes a change from the usual rations!" another grinned. They all looked carefully at Ailith.

"Well, they are very fine. Unless you want to be writhing in pain for the next few hours due to indigestion, you better cook them yourselves," she said drily. "I don't know how to skin a coney, let alone cook one."

"Aye milady. Glad you approve," he said. Good, that put an end to that.

"Right! I am going to partake of the waters!" another said, standing up and stretching expansively. There were mumbles of agreement from the other Riders and they slowly got to their feet.

"What's so special about the water?" Ailith asked. She looked in the direction of the river. They couldn't see it from here but they could hear it, gurgling and chattering at them insistently.

"The Entwash is magic! It is said that if you drink from the source in the heart of Fangorn, you will grow taller and stronger," a Rider gabbled quickly. He was among the youngest in the company and had only just taken his Oath.

"Really?" Ailith said, arching an eye-brow. The oldest Rider, a middle-aged veteran with grizzled hair, glared at him.

"Superstitious nonsense milady. We find that the water soothes any aching muscles bathed in it but that is all. I am afraid anything else is merely a story," he said grimly. "May we go?"

"You may do as you please, my good man. I am not your Captain," she replied. He nodded and the Riders walked towards the sounds of the river.

Water that gave strength and height? Even if it was just an old wives' tale; it was worth investigating. She dug through her packs and extracted a small glass vial from bag. She avoided the stretch of bank where the Riders had vanished to, instead walking upstream a small distance. She had had enough experience of the bathing habits of Riders a long way from home to last her a lifetime after several scouting expeditions with her own men.

She knelt by the water. It ran swiftly, clear and true, and when she filled the vial and lifted it up, it appeared to be free of impurities.

Movement downstream caught her eye and she instinctively shuffled backwards into the bushes. She cursed herself for leaving her sword in the camp and peered through the foliage, tensed to sprint in case it was an enemy. Her breath caught in her throat.

Éomer was standing in the water, stripped to the waist. His muscles shifted as he slowly tipped water over himself, his blonde hair falling across his broad shoulders. He didn't notice her, he was completely absorbed in his washing.

She crept backwards so he wasn't in her view. Her face felt hot; her chest oddly tight. She didn't understand. She had seen plenty of shirtless men before; why did the sight of Éomer affect her this way?

When he and the other Riders returned to the camp, she was sitting cross-legged by the fire reading a small tome given to her by Léonere. She accepted her food with small thanks and said nothing for the rest of the evening, her eyes occasionally straying to Éomer.


	15. A Less Than Happy Welcome

Something was ill in Edoras, Ailith could feel it in her bones. She stared around as her horse walked through the city. It was deathly quiet. The citizens all hurried about their business as if there was a pox. She met the gaze of one old woman and her heart flipped with recognition. This particular woman had been a merry old soul, occasionally a little worse for the drink, and had shouted out greetings to anyone who passed by; peasant, Rider or even Théoden if he rode out. Now she stayed silent, although she did nod respectfully as the company of Riders passed.

"Is it always like this?" she asked Éomer fearfully. He didn't say anything but a muscle tightened in his jaw. She knew that well, he and his sister both did it when they were holding back. She glanced up at the Golden Hall above them and wondered what she would find within.

* * *

"Ailith? Really? You were a scrawny girl when you left, look at you now!" Háma said warmly. He enveloped her in a hug and then held her at arm's length, scrutinising her again. "The King will be thrilled to see you again," he said, his voice slightly hollow.

The slight _ching _of a blade being drawn made Ailith turn. Éomer had indeed drawn his sword but he was laying it on a table by the door.

"New rules," he explained. "No-one may stand armed in the presence of the King."

She nodded slowly and placed her own sword next to his.

"Do you want to change into something more suitable before your audience with the King?" Háma asked. Ailith frowned and looked down. She was wearing her armour; it was clean and her overall appearance was neat and presentable. She realised what he meant by _suitable _and met Háma's eyes with a glare.

"Do you want me to walk up the Golden Hall stark naked?" she asked coldly. "I had no space in my packs for dresses."

It was a complete bluff, Merewald had ensured that three dresses (her mother's blue and two plain) had found their way into her packs, but Háma nodded and stood aside.

"Lord Éomer, son of Éomund, Third Marshall of the Riddermark! Lady Ailith, daughter of Ailred, Lord of the Fortress on the Wold!" he shouted as the door opened.

If Ailith had thought that the city was quiet, it was nothing compared to Meduseld. The only sound in the Golden Hall were the heels of their boots upon the stone as they walked up the Hall.

"Hail, Théoden King!" Éomer called and bowed. Ailith did the same, her eyes fixed on the figure in the throne. First her father, now her King. When they separated, they were men in their prime. Fierce warriors, strong men and loving fathers. When she saw them again, they were shadows of their former selves.

"How strange," a voice said, sending shivers running up and down Ailith's spine. A figure stepped forward out of the shadows. He was clad all in black, his skin as pale as snow and his icy eyes stared intently at her, a dark humour dancing inside. "The doorward tells us that a man and a woman grace the Golden Hall. However, I see before me a man and a peculiar creature with the face of a woman but the body of a man!"

He laughed coldly. Ailith narrowed her eyes.

"Who are you who speaks for the King?"she asked.

"My name is Gríma and I am the King's counsellor, man-woman! May I enquire as to what you have done with our beloved Ailith, brightest wit of Meduseld?"

"Gríma? The pathetic being who couldn't hold a blade without trembling?" she sneered. Her eyes raked over his long robe. "It would seem we have traded places. I am in armour defending our country, you are in dresses whispering sweet nothings into the ear of the King."

"Some are more suited to the court than the battlefield, " he replied. "If it is the custom up North to send young girls out to wave a sword around in the hopes of striking an enemy, one can only understand why you would return to us in such an unwomanly fashion. Pray, what are you supposed to be? Did you decide to play dress-up for the amusement of the court?"

Her mouth fell open. She couldn't believe that he was speaking to her in such a way. She turned to look at Éomer for support but his head was down, his eyes drilling into the stone floor. She looked back only to see Gríma walking back towards the throne, shaking his head sadly.

"How dare you speak to me in that fashion! I am a Rider of the Mark!" she snapped. Gríma turned, his head tilted towards her in interest. She stopped and took a deep breath, calming herself, before continuing. "I have killed orcs and Wargs and wildmen for my King and country! In my blood is the blood of Eadric the Shepherd who built the Fortress as a refuge on the hills! It is my blood that has governed the Wold! We have seen sixteen Kings pass while we protect your lands and sixteen more shall pass before we leave. The lordship has passed from father to son for generations and will pass to my heirs when their time comes. I have my father's ring as proof of my stewardship for he died with no living male heirs."

"A pretty speech. Tell me," he said, his pale blue eyes boring into hers. "Did your father give you his ring or did you pry it off his cold, dead finger?"

She screamed wildly and tried to leap at him but Éomer grabbed her and locked his arms around her shoulders. She couldn't shake him off, she could only pull helplessly against his grip, fighting to take even a step towards Gríma.

"Don't you dare speak of my father!" she bellowed. "He was twice the man you ever were and ever will be, you craven!"

"Oh, such anger! Does it make you proud, Éomer, to see an old friend and a fellow Rider behave in this manner?"

He stepped forward, his face inches from her. She felt Éomer's grip tighten around her. Gríma reached out a pallid hand and lifted some of her hair off her face. He stroked it to one side, his fingers tracing down her jaw line. His touch would have been almost loving if it were not for the chill of his fingers and the sneering malice in his eyes. She felt revolted, she wanted him to stop. And if Éomer held her arms...

Her knee shot up and hit Gríma squarely in the groin. The counsellor doubled up, spewing horrific curses, even as Éomer dragged her backwards away from him. She aimed a kick at his head but her boot failed to connect.

"If you ever touch me again then my dirk shall find a sheath in your stomach!" she spat.

"How dare you strike me! I will mount your head upon a spike above the gates of Edoras!" he returned with equal venom.

A cold, derisive laugh echoed through the Hall. Gríma halted and turned to look at Théoden in his throne. The King's hands came together in a slow clap.

"Excellent, excellent!" he wheezed, his watery eyes rolling in their sockets. "Such fire, such anger! Step forward, my dear."

"My lord, I must protest!" Gríma said but Théoden waved him away. Ailith shrugged off Éomer's arms and walked forward.

The King looked at her without recognition. He laughed again; his entire, frail, little body shaking with each cackle.

"You shall stay," he said. "What a splendid creature you are, little Rider."

"My lord, a woman cannot bear the title of Rider!" Gríma shouted, striding forward to stand equal with Ailith.

"I believe my counsellor is correct. No woman may bear the title of Rider of the Mark," the King said to her. Gríma glanced at her, triumph in his eyes.

"I have taken my Oath; I have fought on the battlefield to defend your people! Why am I not worthy to bear the title?" she asked through her teeth.

"Choose a title of your own, if you will," Théoden said, smiling horribly. She looked around, thinking wildly. All she wanted to be was a Rider. She didn't want to change it; how could she? Rideress? No, that wasn't right.

Her eyes met a pair of grey in the crowd and she found herself looking at her oldest and dearest friend. Éowyn smiled encouragingly at her and gave her a tiny nod, her eyes wet with tears. A tiny scar on Ailith's hand suddenly throbbed and she turned to face her King.

"Shieldmaiden. I choose the title of Shieldmaiden," she said, her mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Théoden stared at her, not saying anything. She wondered if she had somehow crossed a line. Suddenly, the King threw back his head and roared with laughter.

"Yes, yes!" he crowed. He leant forward in his throne, his eyes finally seeing her clearly. "A Rider you are not, but a Shieldmaiden! The Shieldmaiden of the North!"


	16. Reunited

Ailith sighed and looked around her little room. It felt the same as ever; it was as if she had not been away. She started the long process of removing her armour, laying each piece on the bed until she was left wearing only her undershirt and riding trousers.

"Hala, fetch some water," she began and then faltered. Hala was many leagues away. She sighed again and opened her packs. As she was pulling her mother's dress out, a gentle knock sounded on the door and it opened.

"Éowyn!" Ailith cried. She threw the dress aside and rushed at her friend. Éowyn moved forward as well and they met in a tangle of hair and limbs, both of them crying with laughter and relief. Ailith's arms were wrapped so tightly around Éowyn she was half afraid that Éowyn would suddenly cry out in pain.

"Oh, I am so pleased to see you again!" her friend sobbed into her shoulder. They released each other but still held hands. "When you sent no word, I thought I would never see you again."

"Éowyn, forgive me! I did not know that you wanted me to write!" Ailith said, fresh tears welling in her eyes. She quickly hugged Éowyn and then led her to her bed. She pushed the armour aside to clear a space for them to sit. "Now, you must tell me what is happening. Éomer has hardly said a word to me, the Riders all exchange looks behind my back and the atmosphere out in the City, it is unbearable! What ails the King?"

Éowyn sniffed miserably. "The King is ill," she said. "He has not been himself for years. I - I'm not sure exactly when it started. He suddenly seemed to become weaker and frailer. Now, I help him between the throne and his bedchamber, I keep his chambers straight, I deal with some of the day-to-day runnings of the Hall which he used to authorise. He doesn't usually speak but he likes it when people speak up. Most tread around him softly as if they were walking over hot rocks; that is why he found your outburst at Gríma so entertaining-"

Her voice broke off into a high-pitched giggle and she pressed a hand to her mouth.

"Sorry, but his face when you kneed him!" she laughed. Her smile slowly faded. "He deserved it. I feel his presence, even when I am not around him." She shivered, despite the warmth of the room.

"Éowyn, has he ever forced himself upon you?" Ailith asked, her voice low and dangerous. Éowyn's grey eyes widened and she shook her head quickly.

"No, no, nothing like that. He just watches me. All the time, following me like a second shadow."

"Why do the Council tolerate him? He is a disgusting worm!" Ailith spat.

"The Council no longer exists. Gríma is the only one who is allowed to give counsel to the King now."

"And Théodred?"

"Théodred is the Second Marshall. He is based at Helms Deep and he rarely comes back to Edoras now."

Ailith sat back and shut her eyes. The fighting on the Wold seemed to be trivial compared to the upheaval of the court in the face of Théoden's illness. She had thought that the lack of communication between Meduseld and the Fortress always meant peace but now she saw how it could be damaging for the integrity of the country.

"Ailith, are you really a Rider?" Éowyn asked quietly.

"I'm not sure anymore. I completed the training and I took the Oath but it seems like things are done differently down here. On the Wold, everyone knows how to defend themselves so there is no stigma attached to a woman if she wants to fight."

"Everyone?" Éowyn breathed, her eyes shining at the idea.

"Everyone! Even my maid carries a dagger and she certainly knows how to use it!" Ailith laughed. Her face fell. "What am I going to do now? I daren't go home; not with the future of Rohan in this perilous state. But, I have nothing to do, no duties."

"I'm sure we can find something for you to do," her friend said. She smiled and passed her sword to Éowyn.

"Come on, let's see how rusty you are," she said.

**AN - I had a hug like Ailith and ****É****owyn with a cousin of mine who I love dearly but don't see very often. I can recommend it, it is one of the best feelings I have ever experienced. :)**


	17. The Stormcrow Lands

**AN - This scene is actually only a mention in the book when Gandalf is speaking at the Council of Elrond: **_**In Rohan I found evil already at work: the lies of Saruman; and the king of the land would not listen to my warnings. **_**It is slightly expanded upon in the 1981 BBC radio play which I can recommend a listen to; Ian Holm and Bill Nighy voice Frodo and Sam respectively and Gollum is tortured by something that sounds like a giant stapler. :D**

* * *

"I am not asking for much," Ailith growled, her eyes boring into Gríma's.

"Nay, not much at all! A building, access to the King's herb stores, access to the Royal Archives, storage, equipment. Shall I have the locksmith make a complete set of keys for you as well?" the counsellor replied.

"No. I would have thought you would have been pleased to put my healing skills to good use; there is little else I can do as you have forbidden me to practice with the Riders."

"No, _my lord,_" Gríma stressed.

"Forgive me, I wasn't aware that you have been given a title."

There was a quiet sniggering from some corner of Meduseld occupied by the Riders even as Gríma's men bristled. Such was the mood in the Golden Hall; the Riders, loyal to King and country, and Gríma's men, with their unknown agenda, facing each other like armies on a battlefield.

"Give the girl what she desires," Théoden rumbled. "I tire of your sparring. Next time you two wish to fight, please do it when I am indisposed."

"As you wish, my lord," Gríma fawned in his sickening manner.

"Thank you, my lord," Ailith said, curtseying.

The great door of the Hall flew open and Ailith hurried out of the path to the throne. Strangely, Háma did not announce the visitor. She peered at the figure.

He was tall, very tall, but slightly stooped and swaddled entirely in a grey, mud-stained cloak, a large and battered blue hat pulled low over his brow. A thick white beard tumbled from his chin to his belt and, coupled with the hat, hid his face from the court. He leant on a stick almost as tall as he and walked up the hall with a slight limp. No, it wasn't a stick, Ailith realised, but a staff.

His head raised and Ailith saw a pair of dark but intelligent eyes glimmering under bushy eyebrows.

"Hail, Théoden King!" he called and Ailith shivered at his voice. It was a powerful voice and trembled with authority. "I bear ill news for the Mark."

Théoden's eyes flicked upwards at the stranger. "Ill news? You always bear ill news when you come storming to my halls."

"And none graver than the tidings I bring today. Saruman has fallen under the influence of the Dark Lord and it will not be long before the shadow of Orthanc spreads across your land."

"Saruman has always been a friend to you, my lord," Gríma quickly hissed in the King's ear. "He is your ally, not this wandering Elf-friend!"

"The White Wizard's counsel has always been just and true. Why should I forsake him over you, you who wanders hither and thither planting your doubts in the minds of lesser Men," the King said.

"If you do not heed my warnings then Rohan shall be crushed beneath the mighty force mustering in the heart of Isenguard! Will you stand against him?" the stranger implored.

There was silence in the Hall. Ailith had heard of the Wizard Saruman. He was reputed to have great wisdom, greater than any scholar, and there were many stories of his deeds throughout the years. If the stranger told the truth then Rohan and many other lands would be in peril.

Théoden shifted in his throne.

"Begone! Take your warmongering somewhere else, Gandalf Stormcrow!" he snarled.

"If you will not listen to me then at least loan me a steed so that I can warn someone else, someone who will listen!" the stranger said.

"Fine! Choose a horse of your liking and go!" Théoden said, waving a hand. The visitor inclined his head slightly and then swept from the Hall. Gríma leant down to the King's ear again, his eyes sparkling with malevolence as his lips twisted with more lies.

Where had she heard the name Gandalf? Ailith was certain that she had. With a start, she remembered and hurried after the stranger.

"My lord? My lord!" she called, nimbly jumping down the steps of Meduseld several at a time. Gandalf turned, his gaze hostile. "Please my lord, the King is not himself! You can't just leave us!" she pleaded.

"Unfortunately, I am needed in other places for matters of a greater importance than the failing mind of Théoden," he told her gently.

"What could possibly be more important than the health of a King and the safety of a country?" she exclaimed.

"Many things. Just because a man was born to a high family does not make him any more important than the lowliest man on the street. The weak may achieve great deeds as easily as the strong."

With that, he turned and tried to walk away but she quickly said "My lord, are you called Gandalf?"

He paused again.

"It is one of the names I am known by," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"Gandalf brought thirteen dwarves and a half-ling to the house of Beorn and convinced him to host them when he would turn others away! I was told that Gandalf will always help those in need," she said. The old man looked at her through narrow eyes.

"Now how does a noble-born girl at the court of Edoras know that particular story?" he asked suspiciously.

"I know a Beorning. He told me the tale," she said. "It is one of my favourites."

"Hmph. That is only a portion of the story; the whole tale is much longer," he said grumpily. "I am not some magical sprite who runs around helping every fair maiden and foolish knight who requires my assistance! I am needed elsewhere but I shall try to return to aid Rohan soon. If I am ever granted some peace then I may recount some of my adventures to you properly."

As an afterthought, he added, "Mercy upon you and your people if your King does not come to his senses."

He nodded to her and then he left. The one person Ailith thought could aid Rohan walked away from them. Who could help them now?


	18. A Reunion of a Different Sort

Théodred cantered up the main road through the city, his Riders behind him. He had grown to dread these visits. His mother had died bringing him into this world and it pained him to see his father suffer and dwindle until only a fraction of his true character remained. His illness and the growing influence of the leech Gríma cast a dark shadow over the Golden Hall and the City below.

His Riders passed a girl walking up the street; to his surprise she neither stood aside nor flinched when the horses thundered by. He turned in his saddle to look at her. She was wearing a dress that was plain but of a good quality, her hair held back off her face by a scarf. Her face was down-turned so that from his high angle he could not properly see her but, from the even swing of the basket in her hands, she appeared to be relatively at peace.

He turned to face the front and his mind brought forward the smiling face of Ailith. He had once thought to court her with the intention of one day making her his Queen but some cruel fate had taken her back to her home in the North. Almost a decade had passed since he last saw her. His duties as Second Marshal kept him in the West but his cousin Éomer, the Third Marshal, had wider ranging duties and last he heard, his father, or most likely Gríma, had found some reason for Éomer to ride North. For that, Théodred was slightly envious of his cousin. He would have liked to have had the opportunity to see Ailith again.

However, any feelings of resentment vanished when he rode up to Meduseld and saw his cousin sitting on the steps of the Hall. He was speaking with Gamling, a veteran who was like an uncle to them both.

"Théodred!" Éomer shouted in greeting. "How fares the Hornburg?"

"It is good. The wildmen of Dunland appear to be getting restless but it is nothing we cannot handle. How was the North?"

"Fine. Their ways are different but life works."

"And Ailith?" the Prince asked casually, dismounting. Gamling chuckled and exchanged a look with Éomer.

"My lord can ask her himself," the veteran grinned. Théodred's brow furrowed. He turned to look.

The girl from the street had reached the small area in front of the court. Now he could see her face; her blue eyes, her slightly up-turned nose, the freckles across her nose and cheeks. She noticed the three of them and her face lit up when she was Théodred. She crossed to meet them, dodging between Riders and horses, and suddenly Théodred found himself face to face with the girl who had dogged his thoughts for almost ten years.

"Ailith," he said, his eyes raking across her face.

"Prince Théodred," she smiled. "Are you well?"

"Very," he replied. They stood awkwardly for a moment. Ailith glanced away from Théodred's intense gaze.

"Excuse me. I have duties to get on with," she said and walked away.

"Shut your mouth before a bug flies in there," Éomer said jokingly.

"She is a fine woman," Théodred said, still staring after her.

"She is a terrifying woman," Gamling said. "All those spats she has with Gríma. Not a day goes by when they aren't trading snide comments; no-one else would dare."

"You didn't see her on the Wold," Éomer added. "She ran that place more efficiently than I have ever seen. And when she wears her armour; I would give her a wide berth on the battlefield."

"She wears armour?" the Prince exclaimed.

"Aye, milord. Lady Ailith has taken the Oath of the Riders and bears the title of Shieldmaiden," Gamling told him.

"How do you think she got that scar on her face?" Éomer asked. He grinned. "She's more feisty than your usual girls."

Théodred reddened. "Tavern wenches cannot hold a flame to her," he said hotly, causing Gamling and Éomer to bark with laughter.

"I do believe our prince has a romantic streak!" Éomer laughed, standing up and clapping a hand on his cousin's shoulder.


	19. A Healer's Work

**AN - I'm away for this week (Disneyland Paris, yay! I'm wearing my Tigger ears as I type this AN) so I thought I would post the next two chapters together. Thanks to everyone for their continued support and please review, I'd love to know what you are thinking!**

"I assure you, it is completely natural. Every woman has them," Ailith told the young girl. She nodded and scurried from Ailith's work room. Ailith sighed and started to scrub her hands in preparation for her next patient. This was what she had been petitioning the King for when Gandalf arrived. She had been given a small building where she could invite citizens in need of a healing hand to come for aid. Or, on occasion, just a bit of practical advice.

Someone rapped their knuckles on the door and she turned to see Théodred leaning against the door-frame.

"So this is where you hide," he smiled.

"If I had to stay penned in the Hall like Éowyn I would probably end up driving my sword into Gríma's stomach," she replied, scrubbing her nails.

He laughed softly. "You say that like it is a bad thing."

"The blatant murder of the King's only counsellor in front of the whole court," she said drily. "Yes, that is perfectly acceptable."

He stepped forward into the room, opening and closing various cupboards and peering at the contents. His fingers yanked at one cupboard, the handles secured by a chain and a padlock.

"Why is this one locked?" he asked.

"It's where I keep my poisons," she said. "I don't want anyone to have access to them; it's too dangerous."

"Poisons? Really?"

"In small doses, some can be a medicine. You just have to know how to use them."

She dried her hands, his eyes still on the back of her head. He had not made any advances to her since his return and she wondered whether his courtship attempt when they were younger was merely just youthful infatuation. Still, in the back of her mind, the memory of the violets in her bridle tormented her.

The door opened again and Ailith hurried forwards to help Gamling with a white-faced Éomer. Two little boys trailed after them, their eyes wide with shock.

"My idiot of a grandson and his friend here were attempting to saddle my warhorse. If it wasn't for the valiant intervention of Lord Éomer, they would both be lying on the stable floor with their heads kicked in!" Gamling thundered. His grandson's lip started to wobble.

Éomer slowly eased his shirt off, wincing at the pain. Once again, Ailith's face grew hot. Her mouth tightened.

"Don't be angry," he said to her. "We were young once."

She wasn't angry. At least, she wasn't angry with the little ones. She was angry with herself for reacting to the sight of Éomer's naked chest. Again. She was a physician and he was just another patient.

She probed his ribs with her fingers and he cringed again as she passed over the tender area.

"What happened exactly?" she asked.

"The horse was rearing; I got between the boys; the horse caught me with a foreleg," he explained.

"You were lucky," she said softly. The four adults had all seen the damage a horse could inflict with its hooves. "None of your ribs are broken but you are going to have an ugly bruise. I can give you something for the pain if it is too much for you to bear."

He shook his head.

She turned and knelt down so that she was the same height as the two boys.

"Gamel," she said, addressing Gamling's grandson. "Why did you try to saddle your grandfather's horse? You can't even reach his back without a stool. "

The young boy's feet shuffled guiltily. "We wanted to be like proper Riders. Our ponies are so small," he said mournfully.

"Until you are fully grown, you cannot be a proper Rider," she said. "You must be able to care for your horse better than you do yourselves; he is your weapon, your armour and your most loyal brother-in-arms. You will know each other better than you know yourselves. Do you really think that you are ready for so intense a relationship?"

The boys shook their heads.

"When shall we know that we have grown enough?" Gamel asked, peeking at her face through his eyelashes. She looked up at Théodred and Éomer for help but they just smirked at her.

"When you know your own horse so well that you can step from his back to that of another horse," she said, her eyes locked with Théodred's. Éomer sniggered as the Prince's face reddened.

Gamling herded the two boys out of the room, growling about punishments and speaking to their fathers, leaving the three friends alone.

"I feel for your children. You are going to be a terrifying mother," Théodred said.

"And I trust that you no longer fall off your horse," Ailith retorted, punching him playfully on the arm.

"I endeavour not to," he said. He threw Éomer's shirt at him. "Come, stop flashing your skin at us! Or maybe you want to walk through the City shirtless and see how many maidens swoon at the gallant sight of you!"

Éomer laughed with his cousin and pulled his shirt back on. The two of them left and Ailith sank onto a chair. She was used to their camaraderie and joking but she had never had to try to hide any feelings from them.

They were both her brothers; she did not want to be breathless at the sight of Éomer and she did not want anything more than brotherly affection from Théodred.


	20. Word From the North

Ailith hummed as she walked through the halls of Edoras, her basket in her hands. She met Éowyn walking away from Théoden's bedchamber.

"Oh, are you going out?" Éowyn said hopefully.

"Yes, I am."

"Do you need some company?"

Ailith's heart gave a guilty twinge. She didn't like leaving her friend to suffer whilst she got to work relatively freely. Every time they ventured out, the cares seemed to lift from Éowyn until she was as bright as she used to be, before her troubles.

"Not this time. Some of the herbs I am looking for are in awkward places. It will be easier if I am by myself."

"Oh. I was wondering if we could practice with the swords for a little while."

Ailith placed a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder.

"Éowyn, I promise you that we shall practice when I get back. You have a natural gift with a blade; you should trust your abilities."

* * *

She saddled her horse quickly and rode slightly North. When she was some distance from the City, she slowed and whistled, two high notes that carried on the breeze. From somewhere to the left, an answer sounded. She spurred her horse towards it.

She crested a hill and reined her horse in when she saw the waiting figure.

"My lady," the Rider said. He bowed as she dismounted.

"Greetings, Boda. How is the Fortress?" she asked.

"It struggles without you, milady, but we manage. Hala asks for your permission to marry."

"Hmph. I think she is far too young but if it is what she desires and if Merewald thinks there is nothing ill with the match then by all means, she may marry. Now tell me, what news from the scouts."

"The night before I left, a scout from beyond the Limlight rode into the Fortress and gave the strangest report we have heard told in many a year. He said he saw a party of eight flee down the Dimril Dale and into Lórien. At night, the hills swarmed with goblins and other foul creatures but they could not or would not enter the wood."

"The dwarves?" Ailith asked. "The party of dwarves who sought to take back Moria?"

"Nay, milady. One of the party was a dwarf but he was not of the original explorers."

"And the others?"

"An elf, two men and four boys."

"_Children?_" Ailith exclaimed. "You expect me to believe that four _children _walked through the darkness of Moria?"

"I said it was a strange tale," Boda said apologetically. She sighed and folded her arms.

"What of the adults? Did he recognise them?"

"One of them. He said it was Captain Boromir, the eldest son of the Steward of Gondor. He said the other looked like a Ranger."

"Beleg?"

"No, milady. I am sorry but there has been no word from or sighting of Lord Beleg since he left us."

"I see. Thank you for the news, Boda. I will see you again next month. And give my congratulations to Hala for her marriage," she said, mounting her horse. He inclined his head.

"Safe riding, milady," he said.

"And you," she replied.

* * *

She gathered some of the herbs needed to replenish her stores and then rode back to Edoras. She made her way straight to her workroom and began the slow process of updating her inventory. Her pen paused over one entry.

_Athelas - Two leaves_

Beleg had given her five. Three had been lost in various medical procedures; an amputation, a difficult birth, a horrible accident involving an axe. She had crushed them and added them to boiling water to make a calming vapour that had relaxed all three of the patients. She had no idea if they had any other medicinal properties. The calming effect was reason enough to keep them.

She was slightly worried about only having two left in her possession. She didn't know where to find more; certainly she had never found it growing in Rohan. What would she do when she had used what was left?

"You know, you really have some nerve. If Éowyn knew what you were doing, she would feel betrayed," a voice said behind her. She turned in her seat to see Théodred standing in the doorway. His handsome face was twisted into an ugly grimace.

"You are given the chance to move around as you please, knowing full well that Éowyn is bound to my Father, and instead of trying to help her, you sneak out of the City on the pretext of gathering herbs to meet with a lover!" he snapped.

"Wha-what?" she gasped.

"Do not try to deny it! You were seen!" he barked, striding across the room. "You rode out of the City and met with a Rider on the plains! This isn't the first time either!"

"You mean Boda? He isn't my lover; he's one of my men! He commands my scouts; he was giving me a report!"

"If what you say is true, why didn't he come to the Hall to deliver his report in the presence of the King?"

"To give a report to the King is to give a report to Gríma! What goes on at the Fortress is the business of mine and the King _and no other man's_!" she said hotly.

He faltered and stared at her.

"He isn't your lover?" he ventured. She sighed and slammed her pen down on the desk.

"No he is not. If you must know, he is married with two children and a third on the way. And anyway, even if he was my lover, what does it matter? I have done nothing to harm my honour!"

"You are a high-born lady of Rohan. It is not only your decision on who you-" he began but she stood up, sending her stool crashing to the ground.

"Prince and future King or no, don't you _dare_ tell me who I can and can't love!" she shouted.

There was a terrible pause and Ailith wondered if she had finally crossed the line.

Théodred suddenly stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and kissed her passionately. She completely froze in his embrace, waiting for him to draw back from the kiss. After what seemed like an eternity, he stepped back, his poor face bewildered. She opened her mouth to say something but he hurried out; not making eye contact with her.


	21. Playfights

Ailith balanced on her stool, one leg outstretched for balance, and flung another length of lavender at her drying rack. It completely missed, instead choosing to sail merrily to the floor. She gritted her teeth and threw the last bit. It landed square on the rack but was blown off by the gust of wind that accompanied the opening of the door.

"Éomer!" she scolded, jumping down and scooping up the errant wisps.

"My, my, we are irritable today!" Éomer said drily, picking up a piece she had missed. He held out and she snatched it off him. She climbed back onto the stool and recommenced in the task of throwing the plant at the drying rack. He watched her with amusement. "Would it not be easier to move the stool closer to the rack?" he asked eventually. The corners of her mouth tightened. Yes, it would be easier but she was not going to admit it now. One particular toss was slightly too enthusiastic and her stool wobbled. "Be careful," Éomer warned her. She stopped and glared at him.

"Do you have a problem or are you merely going to breath down my neck all day?" she snapped.

"What is wrong with you and Théodred? You have been avoiding each other for days now! Do you not want to spend time with each other?" he asked. She paused. She had been avoiding him, that was true. First the violets, now a kiss. What would be next?

"We both have commitments," she said stiffly. She threw another strand angrily. The jarred movement made the stool wobble again. She spun her arms wildly to avoid overbalancing but the seat gave a horrible crack and she keeled over sideways. Éomer jumped forwards quickly and the two went down in a tangle of clothes and lavender.

"I told you to be careful," he groaned from under her.

"I was fine without you!" she hissed, propping herself on her elbows. He winced and she quickly moved the elbow to a different part of his chest; a part that was not covered by his bruise.

"Women! Why are you so stubborn?" he groaned. She frowned and deliberately dug her elbow back into the tender area. He responded by wrapping an arm around her neck and before long they were tussling on the floor like a pair of wolf cubs.

Out of the four noble children who had once run through the halls of Meduseld, it had always been the two of them who scrapped the most. Éomer kept the verbal peace between the four of them but Ailith and he would happily lay into each other with enough provocation. The first time had been shortly after her arrival at Edoras. She had quickly bonded with Éowyn and was cautiously polite to Théodred but Éomer had joked and teased her mercilessly. The final blow had come when he had asked her if she lived in a shepherding hut. Nobody spoke like that about the Fortress! When the servants had finally separated the brawling children, he had grinned at her and told anyone who listened about the origins of the fantastic black eye she had managed to give him. As they grew, the fights had grow less and less as he started his training and she took on more duties around the Golden Hall.

This was their first fight in nearly fourteen years. When they were younger, Ailith could win most of the fights through the use of long nails and skirts that could easily be tangled around the enemy's feet. Now however, Éomer had the distinct advantage. They had had the same training but he was taller, heavier and stronger than her.

It didn't take him long to restrain her; his hands around her wrists and his knees pinning her dress and therefore her legs to the floor.

"Yield?" he asked jokingly, his face inches from hers.

"Oh, get Gamling's horse to finish you off, you complete pig!" she retorted, squirming in his grasp. She stopped and glared up at him. Slowly, she began to feel uncomfortable as he neither moved nor let go, his weight pressing down on top of her. He did let go of one of her arms but only to pull some of the lavender out of her hair. His eyes trailed slowly across her face and he tickled her cheek with the lavender. She smiled and batted it away with her free hand. "Get off me, you idiot, before someone comes in and thinks we are up to no good," she murmured.

"I think that sounds like an invitation," he said, leaning in closer to her. She lifted her hand and stopped him.

He sighed and sat back, pulling her up with him.

"Your hands are rougher than Éowyn's," he said, turning her hand over and running a finger over her palm.

"I work with my hands more than she does," she said. She smiled as she thought about the training Éowyn was working her way through. Next time Éomer held his sister's hand, it might be rougher than he remembered.

He was looking around the room with curiosity, as even the most regular patient did, and his gaze fell upon the now broken stool.

"I'll find someone to fix this for you," he said and left her, sitting alone on the floor surrounded by lavender. She gathered together a small bunch and inhaled the sweet scent. Her cheek and palm still tingled from his touch. A small smile curved around her mouth but faded just as quickly when she remembered Théodred.

Now she knew how it felt; to be loved by one when her own love belonged to someone else.


	22. The Long Night

**AN: Pre-warning of character death. Don't particularly want to kill him but unfortunately it's canon. :(**

Ailith sat on the steps of Meduseld, watching the sun rise slowly over the Plains of Rohan. Early morning Edoras was always strangely quiet. The City almost seemed to be like ghost-like in the dawn. Up here by the Palace, only the servants were awake but lower down in the town she could hear doors slamming shut as the citizens prepared for the day ahead.

A low rustling of a dress over flagstones crept up behind her and Éowyn sat next to her.

"How many more mornings am I going to awake to discover you sitting out here?" she asked.

"Until the men have returned and my doubts are put to rest," Ailith replied. She looked at her friend. "Do you not find it suspicious? A party of Uruks are sighted in the Gap so Théodred rides out. Shortly after, we lose all communication from the Westfold so Éomer and his men ride out. Something isn't right."

Éowyn reached out a hand and squeezed her shoulder.

"The Riders know what they are doing," she said.

"I'm still worried. I would not want to send my men into a battle with so little information."

She shut her eyes and wished with all of her heart that the ominous feeling in her gut would vanish.

* * *

A horn sounded on the wind. Ailith froze. The horn sounded again and she was running, her dress hitched over her arm and her free hand winding her scarf round her hair. She burst through the door and skidded to a halt.

"Théodred!" she screamed. He was so pale, his head lolling against Éomer's shoulder, his eyes rolling back into his head. "Be careful with him," she snapped as the Riders moved to lift him down. They hesitated.

"Aye, milady," one of them said and gently lifted him down.

"Take him to his chambers, he needs to be made comfortable," she ordered, laying a hand across his forehead. He was burning under her touch. The Riders hurried away, bearing their Prince between them. She caught Éomer by the arm. "What happened? Where are his men?" she asked.

"They were ambushed at the Fords of Isen," he said shortly. "Few survived."

* * *

She paused outside the door of Théodred's chamber and took a deep breath. She was not his friend, she was a Healer. She had no feelings for him, sisterly or otherwise. He was just another patient.

She strode in, placed the bag with her Healing materials on a nearby table and instructed the others in the room, Éomer included, to wash their hands well with soap before they came anywhere near him. Her heart sank as she cut away his blood-soaked undershirt with her dirk and saw the deep wound in his side.

"What can you do for him?" Éomer asked.

"I can make him comfortable," she replied gravely. His eyes conveyed his disappointment. "Don't look at me like that, Éomer! The only person in Rohan who could possibly heal this is Merewald and she is two days ride away. That is four days for the round trip; he will be gone long before she got here. The best I can do is relieve some of the pain and maybe stop the bleeding."

As she turned and started to unpack her healing materials, Merewald's voice instructing her on how to stop heavy bleeding repeating over and over in her head, Éomer sank heavily into a chair. In one fell swoop, he would lose his cousin and become heir to the throne, a role he never thought he would have to take.

Éowyn ran in. She gasped when she saw Théodred and she exchanged a look with her brother.

"You are going to have to tell the King what has happened," she said shakily. He nodded and followed her from the room.

Ailith mixed some herbs into water. She lifted Théodred's head and managed to get him to sip a little bit of the mixture before starting the arduous process of stopping the bleeding. She carefully washed the grit and dirt out of his wound and then fetched a wad of material and used it to apply pressure to the gash. Her cool composure vanished and tears ran down her face as he cried out in pain. His skin was drenched in a cold sweat, his blood staining her hands even as she lessened the flow. Her tears were falling uncontrollably by the time she had stemmed the flow and was wrapping a bandage around the wound.

The door to the chambers flew open and Éowyn ran in. She collapsed on her knees by the bed, her own face twisted with sorrow.

"Éomer has been banished!" she wailed. Ailith's tears halted instantly.

"What?" she gasped.

"He fought with Gríma and Gríma produced a warrant from the King. Oh, Ailith! I've lost my King, I'm losing Théodred, I can't lose my brother too!" her friend replied, hiccupping slightly.

"Keep feeding that tincture to Théodred," she said absent-mindedly and ran from the room. She sprinted through the halls and outside. He had not left yet. He was sitting on his horse, his Riders busy all around him. "Éomer!" she yelled, jumping down the steps.

He did not look around.

"I trust you have heard," he said stiffly.

"Éomer, you can't leave! We need you here, I need you here!" she wept. "Where are you going to go?"

"To Isengard. The Uruks were Saruman's; if it is a war he wants, it is a war he will get," he said grimly.

"No!" she cried. He nudged his horse forward into a trot. She grabbed his reins and tried to pull the horse to a stop but all she managed to do was pull him around in a circle, herself being dragged alongside.

"By Béma, Ailith! Let go before you are trampled underfoot!" he thundered, reining in the horse.

"Promise me that you will not ride for Isengard! It would be suicide!"

"Where would you have me go?" he asked, looking at her for the first time. She bit her lip and looked down.

"Ride North," she said suddenly. "Go to the Fortress."

"I am banished. I can't stay within the boundary of Rohan!" he said but she sighed impatiently and pulled off her father's ring. She pressed it into his hand, saying "Give this to Folcred, he won't turn you away! We do things differently on the Wold."

He stared down at it, Théodred's blood making the cold metal sticky to touch.

"The North waits for no Man," she said, her voice finally clear and steady.

"I've heard you say that before. What does it mean?" he asked her softly. She shook her head. Fresh tears brimmed in her eyes. She could never explain it. He would not understand.

"Just promise me that you won't do anything rash. For my sake, and for Éowyn's," she said.

* * *

He was in pain, terrible pain. His eyes rolled back into his head. Tiny whimpers escaped from his throat. Ailith stroked his forehead and then laid another cold cloth across it. She stood up and rifled through her bag, desperately trying to find something that could take away the pain. The athelas. Quickly, she ground up a leaf and added it to boiling water. As the familiar scent filled the room, she placed the bowl on the bed next to him and covered both the bowl and his face with a cloth so he would have to breath in the fumes.

Her eye fell on a particular bottle in her bag and she lifted it out with a shaking hand. One of her poisons. Why was it in here? It should be locked away in her rooms. She cupped it in her hands and stared at the clear liquid inside. Her eyes flicked towards Théodred's still form. It would be quick. She had sent Éowyn away to rest so nobody else would know...

No, how could she even consider it? She threw the vial away, disgusted with herself.

"Ailith?" a weak voice called. She hurried over to the bed and lifted the cloth off Théodred's face. His gaze was barely focused on her but he was there, he was with her. "Ailith, what happened?" he asked, his hand scrabbling on the bed clothes. She took it in her own.

"You were ambushed at the Fords of Isen," she said.

"What are my chances? Be honest with me."

"Not good."

As the words left her lips, the guilt of what she had just considered overwhelmed her and she started to sob again. He somehow managed to lift a hand and wipe a tear from her face. She gently placed his hand back on the bed.

"Don't move," she whispered. He smiled through his pain.

"I was going to ask you to marry me," he said. Even through her grief, her heart lurched horribly. "You are the sort of woman I would have wanted for my Queen," he was saying. "I must know, before I die, would you have said yes?"

No, no, no! She did not want to marry anyone; she was a Shieldmaiden, not a homemaker. She never wanted to marry and she never would!

"Of course," she said, stroking his forehead tenderly. He smiled contently and shut his eyes.

She felt so powerless. How could she just let him die like this? She turned and dug through the bag again until she found the vial she wanted. She held it up and read the label. _Entwash Water._ Strength and height, the Rider had said. Théodred did not need the height but he needed the strength.

Her last effort proved fruitless.

He was dead within the hour.


	23. White Light

She examined her face in the mirror. Red eyes, cheeks rubbed raw by her tears. Ailith was no beauty but grief made her even less of one. How could Théodred have loved her?

With a sigh, she turned to her washbowl and cleaned her face. Théoden had not even acknowledged his son's death when Éowyn told him. Ailith straightened up, drying her face. As she put the towel down, her mind clicked. With Théodred dead and Éomer banished, Éowyn was the next in line for the throne. The Lords would tear her apart trying to gain positions of power before she even had the time to assert her own authority. It was horrible that Éowyn would have no time to mourn her uncle and King but it was important that Ailith helped her get a firm hold on the throne before someone tried to supplant her.

She groaned and leant against the stand. At this rate she would return to the Fortress as an old woman, crippled and barren.

Théodred was waiting for her. It was her duty to prepare the body for burial. Meduseld was so quiet and outside, the city seemed to be deserted. Everyone was mourning the passing of their Prince.

As she reached his room, she nearly collided with Éowyn hurrying out.

"Even when I have nothing left, he still pursues me," she said angrily, tears in her eyes. She swept off. Ailith pushed open the door carefully with one hand as the other went to the dirk on her belt. Gríma was standing over Théodred's body, a mildly interested expression on his pallid face.

"Get out," Ailith said.

"I am paying my respects to the fallen son of my lord and King," he said without looking around.

"I said, get out!" she snarled. She drew the dirk. He turned and backed away from the bed, his eyes fixed with horror on the blade.

"You are not allowed to draw a blade in the Golden Hall!" he said hurriedly.

"The law says that we cannot draw blades in the presence of the King! Forgive me, is he in here?" she said, advancing on him.

"You wouldn't dare-" he stuttered.

"If you ever go near Éowyn again, I will kill you myself. My mother and father are dead; my King is ill; the people loyal to me are many leagues away; one of the men I called brother is banished by _your _hands and I am still mourning the passing of the other. If you dare try to take my sister from me, I will gut you like a common beast and trample your corpse under the hooves of my horse until even the crebain shall pass you by in disgust!" she hissed, pressing the dirk against his stomach. He whimpered and she stepped back. "You call yourself a Man of Rohan? There are boys learning to trot on their ponies who have more courage than you," she said, shaking her head."Get out of my sight."

* * *

"My lady! My lady!" a voice was screaming. A serving girl scrambled into the room. "My lady! There are strangers in the Hall, they are going to kill the King!" she screamed, her eyes wide and frightful. Ailith dropped Théodred's shoulder guards and shoved past the shaking girl. She sprinted for the Great Hall. She skidded in and shoved her way through the crowd.

There were four of them. A dark-haired man, an elf, a dwarf... and Gandalf. In that single instant she saw him, her apprehension vanished. Gandalf was back; they were saved. He was walking steadily up the Hall, swathed in his grey cloak, his eyes locked with Théoden's. Gríma's men were desperately trying to reach him but his companions would effortlessly move to block them. The dwarf knocked Gríma to the ground and growled "I wouldn't move if I were you," at him.

"Don't worry, if he moves I'll get him for you," she found herself muttering. The dwarf looked up at her and chuckled darkly.

"Théoden, Lord of the Riddermark and King of Rohan. Too long have you sat in the shadows!" Gandalf was saying. "Come back to your people! I release you from this enchantment!"

He gestured in front of Théoden. Ailith had never seen magic before and she was slightly disappointed by the lack of mysticism and wonder. There was a small pause and then a loud, cold laughter filled the Hall.

"You are weak. These are my lands now, Gandalf the Grey!" a new voice called and Ailith shrank back in horror. This strange new voice was not that of her King and yet it came from his mouth. His was as kind as this was cruel.

Gandalf tensed and then the grey cloak flew off his shoulders. A blinding white light filled the Hall and the court winced and covered their eyes, Ailith included. She lowered her arm slightly and tried to peer into the glare. She saw a slight figure rush forward only to be grabbed by one of the strangers. There was a thunderous cry and the white light subsided to reveal her King slumped in his throne. He gave a soft moan and started to fall forwards. Éowyn broke out of the stranger's grip and rushed forward to catch him. She heaved him back into the throne.

The years seemed to lift from him until the King she had once known and loved was once again sitting in front of them. He turned to his niece, recognition finally blooming in his eyes, and lovingly cupped her cheek.

"I know your face," he said softly. "Éowyn."

His eyes moved slowly around the Hall as if taking it in for the first time.

"Gandalf?" he asked. Ailith knew why he would be unsure. Gandalf the Grey was a figure of authority and wisdom but he was often mistaken for a simple traveller in his mud-stained cloak. Gandalf the White, clothed as he was in a robe of purest white, was an advisor to Kings. But then he smiled and Ailith saw that he was still the gentle being she had met before.

"Indeed, my friend," he said. "You are free once more."

"Dark have been my dreams of late," Théoden said, getting to his feet with the help of Éowyn. He looked down at his trembling hands.

"Your strength will return to you in time. Perhaps if you drew your sword again..." Gandalf said. Háma rushed forward with the King's scabbard. He humbly knelt, offering up the sword. Théoden gripped the hilt and the sword slipped from its sheath. Ailith's eyes welled with tears and she beamed across the Hall at Éowyn. All was well in Meduseld once more.

That is, all was well until Théoden saw Gríma cowering on the floor. His expression darkened.

"I want him out of here," he commanded, pointing his sword at the pathetic creature. The dwarf released him and Háma and Gamling man-handled him from the Hall. They threw him bodily down the steps of Meduseld. Théoden and the court followed, the King descending the steps towards Gríma.

"You, your twisted whisperings poisoned my mind! You would have seen me crawl along the floor like a beast!" he shouted.

"No my lord! I am your servant! Do not send me away!" Gríma called beseechingly. Théoden raised his sword and Ailith's heart leapt with it. She longed to see the blade curve down and hack into the man she hated so. However, Gandalf's human companion jumped forward and grabbed the King's wrist.

"No! No, my lord. Enough blood has been spilt on his account," he said. Ailith sighed and folded her arms as Gríma was allowed to just walk free. He deserved to die, no matter what the stranger thought.

"You seem ill at ease with your King's decision," a voice said behind her. She turned to see the elf and the dwarf watching her.

"He deserved to die. He is a traitor to our country and if he is allowed to go then who knows what damage he will cause," she said curtly.

The elf regarded her carefully.

"So, you will not be able to forgive him? You would show him no mercy?" he asked.

"Put it this way: if I ever see him again, I will kill him myself," she told him firmly. The dwarf chuckled again.

"I like the way this one thinks," he said to his companion. "Much better than that idiot we met out on the Plains."

"You've seen Éomer," she breathed, giving him her full attention.

"He didn't give us his name but he was tall and arrogant," the dwarf informed her. The elf gave him a pained look even as she laughed.

"Yes, that sounds like him," she said. "Forgive me, my name is Ailith. On behalf of the people of the Mark, I want to thank you for giving us back our King."

"Don't you worry lass. It was no trouble," the dwarf said warmly.

"I am Legolas and this is Gimli, son of Glóin," the elf said. Ailith's eyes widened.

"Glóin? As in, companion to Thorin Oakenshield?" she gabbled excitedly like a small child. As Gimli roared with laughter for a third time, a bemused expression on Legolas' face, Éowyn slipped up beside Ailith and whispered in her ear. Five words; five words that drained the colour from Ailith's face and brought her sadness crashing back down upon her chest.

"He wants to see Théodred."

**AN- I am actively trying to avoid just writing out the movie script as personally I think it is a bit lazy to do so. I've included some direct lifts if I think they fit but I am going to try to do my best to use my own words. :)**


	24. Grief

Théoden was sitting by his son's bed, his chin on his hands. He looked around when Ailith entered.

"So, you are the Healer who cared for my son in his final hours," he said. "Forgive me, for my memory is still hazy and I am struggling to place a name to your face."

"Ailith, daughter of Lord Ailred, sire," she replied.

"My, how you have changed," he said. "Your resemblance to your mother grows with each passing year. How is your father?"

"Dead, milord. He passed away near on nine years ago."

Théoden sighed. "A son and a friend, I discover their fates in the same day. Was my son in pain when he died?"

"I- I tried my hardest to ease his pain. He was able to speak with me at the end," she stuttered.

"What did he say to you?"

She hesitated. "He spoke of love," she said. "Love for you, your country, your people." That was half the truth at least.

"And what of your people? Who did that leech appoint to be the next Lord?"

"Nobody my lord. I will explain later," she said, moving forward and picking up the pieces of Théodred's armour she had dropped. "Now is a time for grief, not politics."

* * *

Ailith followed the funeral procession at a sedate pace. Théodred was to be buried in the tomb that had actually been built for his father. Éowyn, walking beside her, held out a hand and she gripped it thankfully. Together, they stopped by the tomb and waited for the body to arrive.

All of Edoras had gathered to say farewell to the Prince. As Ailith looked around, she was strongly reminded of the day her father had been buried. A similar amount of people had gathered; she had felt similarly empty; it had even been a similar time of year.

Éowyn stepped forward as the Riders bearing Théodred's body drew level with them. She took a deep breath, tried to still her shaking hands and then started to sing. It was the funeral lament, sung in Old Rohirric., and Éowyn sang it beautifully.

A sob escaped from Ailith as she saw Théodred's face for what would be the last time. Suddenly, the sorrow over her parents' deaths that she had long kept buried overwhelmed her. She wept, for both her lost friend and the parents she had barely known. Her father's death had been inevitable in the face of his illness but he had not deserved to die the way he had. Her mother and Théodred had passed away before their time. She had many memories of times with Théodred but she had precious few of her mother. Ailith had been so young when she had died that she could barely remember her face.

She lifted her face skywards and mouthed the final word along with Éowyn. "_Bealo..._"

An evil death; for those who did not deserve one.

* * *

The two children had ridden for nearly a whole day. They were exhausted and dehydrated but otherwise healthy. Ailith placed two plates of broth in front of them and they started to gobble it down.

"There was no warning," Éowyn said angrily. "The Wildmen came upon them before they could defend themselves. Now the Westfold burns, rick, cot and tree."

"Where is our Mama?" the little girl, Freda, cried. Éowyn hushed her and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Ailith handed a plate of food to Gimli and the third companion, Aragorn, and then sat opposite the children.

"I warned you that this would happen," Gandalf said from his seat next to Théoden. "This is but a fraction of the damage Saruman could unleash upon your land. Protect your people; meet him in battle head on." He placed a hand on the arm of Théoden's chair, saying "You _must _fight."

Théoden straightened up, staring at Gandalf's hand. The gesture was reminiscent of Gríma's wheedling and Ailith and Éowyn exchanged a worried glance.

Aragorn removed his pipe from his mouth.

"Éomer and his men ride north as we speak. He is a good man; he will not desert you," he said.

"They will be many leagues away by now," the King said forlornly.

"I doubt it," Ailith muttered. There was a pause and her cheeks reddened as he glared at her.

"Do you have something to say on this matter?" he asked her coldly.

"Well, if he is riding North then at some point he would have to cross the Limlight. At this time of year the river is swift and the crossing points few and sparse. It would take him some days to cross with all of his men," she explained.

"And yet if he has crossed he will have ridden even further away from us. I cannot risk my people waiting for him to return. I won't take the path to open war," he said.

"You have little choice in the matter. Open war is before you, whether you like it or not!" Aragorn said. Théoden turned towards him, his eyes burning.

"I, Théoden, am King of Rohan, not Aragorn," he said. He turned to Ailith. "And I allow you to keep your titles out of respect to your father. I personally think the whole idea is preposterous. You are not a Lord, you are not one of my counsellors."

Ailith shifted on the bench. The tense atmosphere was broken by Gimli burping loudly. Everyone looked at him and his cheeks reddened under his beard.

"What is the King's command?" Gandalf asked in the following silence.

"We shall retreat to Helm's Deep. It has provided refuge for us in the past and it shall do so now. We leave at first light," Théoden said and strode from the Hall.

"Come, we should find a room for these two," Éowyn said, picking up a sleepy-eyed Freda. Ailith beckoned to her brother, Éothain. "I think there are some rooms free in the West Wing," Éowyn called over her shoulder.

They found a small spare room and left the children to change. As Éowyn brought some hot water, Ailith returned with some furs and spread them on the bed.

"If you need anything else then my room is just down the Hall," she said. "This room can be cold at this time of year."

Freda looked tiny in the massive bed, surrounded by the thick woollen blankets and furs.

"I miss Mama," she said tearfully.

"Stop crying," Éothain said, climbing in beside his sister.

"You have every right to miss your mother," Ailith said firmly. "I still miss mine. You are lucky, you will see your mother again. I don't have that luxury."

She sat on the bed.

"Is your mother dead?" Freda asked tentatively.

"She is. As is mine. We were young girls when we lost them," Éowyn said.

"Our mother told us stories..." Freda said shyly. Her tone was as hopeful as her eyes shining in the candlelight. Ailith sighed and looked at Éowyn who shrugged.

"Fine. I have a good one," she said, moving on the bed so she was more comfortable. "Once there was a Man named Beorn. He lived not with other Men but with animals who were his friends and companions. Together they lived on the outskirts of Mirkwood. One day they had a visitor, the Wizard Gandalf. He brought with him the strangest creature they had ever seen..."

Outside, the City grieved for the Prince they had loved and lost. In Théoden's chambers, the Lords and the King buried their grief as they made the necessary plans to protect the people of Rohan. But for one night, two children were allowed to forget their cares and woes as Ailith wove a story around them.


	25. Fears of a Shieldmaiden

"By order of the King, the citizens of Edoras are to make for the refuge of Helm's Deep!" Háma shouted. "Take only what you need for the journey!"

He turned and glared at Ailith who was lugging a large pack towards her horse.

"That extends to members of the court," he said sternly.

"I need to take it. It has my medical supplies," she said.

"There are medical supplies in Helm's Deep," he pointed out.

"Yes but I don't know what they are. I have everything I need here. We would be in a wonderful mess if I did not have something vital to treat injuries. Besides, if it is at Helm's Deep then I will be carrying extra," she explained.

He gave her a disapproving look but said no more. His eyes travelled slowly over her clothes; riding trousers, undershirt and her mail shirt.

"I'm not changing," she said, answering the question that was not asked. "I have to run everywhere today and I cannot do that with material swishing around my legs."

He nodded slowly, clearly uncomfortable, but moved off to help an old man load a sack onto a cart.

Ailith rubbed her horse affectionately on the neck. "Ready for a journey, my friend?" she asked. He whinnied and nuzzled her, causing her to laugh. The doors to the stable opened and a handsome chestnut trotted out and down the street. She watched him go and longed to catch him and take him back to the safety of the stables. Yet she dared not, he was a descendant of the _mearas _and he would not yield to anyone but the Royal family. His name was Brego and he had been Théodred's horse.

Her own horse's ears flicked forward and he watched Brego make his solitary way down the street. She patted him comfortingly on the neck again. "It seems we have both lost companions," she whispered.

* * *

Her brow furrowed as she sorted through the chest.

"Here, take these," she puffed, pulling out the heavy woollen blankets and handed them to the waiting servant. "I want them packed, no matter what Háma says!" she called after him as he vanished.

The clash of blade on blade rang out and she looked around hurriedly. Her panic eased when she saw Éowyn and Aragorn with blades interlocked. She smiled as Aragorn yielded his hold and Éowyn spun her blade around. She loved to watch her friend fight. Éowyn had so much fire hidden inside her and she let it flow into this incredible deadly force when given the chance. In their secret training sessions, Ailith had discovered that her friend had forgotten none of the training they had received as children. Éowyn had quickly picked up the techniques Ailith had shown her and now, although Ailith was loathe to admit it, Éowyn was easily the better swordswoman of the pair. Even now as she faced Aragorn, her stance was perfect, her sword steady.

Ailith smiled and dug back in the chest. There had to be some more blankets near the bottom; she was sure of it.

"Do you require some assistance, sir?" a voice said behind her.

"Lady, not sir," she said, looking around. Aragorn smiled.

"Lo, I discover one Shieldmaiden," he said, lifting her hand off the chest and examining the many nicks on her palms from swordplay. "And I find another right here in front of me." His eyes slid over her clothes.

"I am a Rider too," she said flatly. She closed the chest and opened the one next to it. "It is my duty to protect my country in any way I can. I would willingly lay down my life to keep Rohan safe and I refuse to wear anything but my armour when I am needed to defend."

"That is very brave of you," he said.

"Not particularly. I just know what is needed to be done."

"So, if one Shieldmaiden fears a cage, what of the other?" he asked. She looked him straight in the eye. Here was a Man who had seen much in his lifetime. He would know if she lied or spoke the truth.

"I fear not a cage but bonds of a different sort; the bonds of marriage," she said. In the following pause, she reddened and dug her head into the chest.

"Why do you fear such a thing?" he asked. Something in his tone of voice made her trust him. Had she voiced this to anyone else, they would have been affronted by her boldness. He merely sounded curious.

"I have governed Men and protected them from evil. I have been the Shepherd who guards the flock from the night," she said in a hollow voice. She met his gaze again. "Where I am from, our laws are first and the laws of Edoras are second. There is an understanding between us and the King that due to the distance we are given some leniency. Our ways have not changed in generations. With my father dead, I am the Lord. I have the responsibility of the welfare of my people until my son is able to take control. How can I risk marrying someone who doesn't understand this? My poor child shall have to be born a bastard."

"I think you need not worry. You shall find a husband who gives you the freedom you long for. You could govern equally alongside him, perhaps?" he suggested. She shook her head sadly.

"That would never be allowed."

"The Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn rule Lórien together and there are those who would say that her power is greater than his," he told her.

"I am not the Lady Galadriel. I am the Lady Ailith," she said simply.

"Trust your instincts and your heart. They will guide you through these dark times," he said. When his words failed to move her, he stepped closer. "Your cousin would be very proud of you, little Rohiril," he murmured and walked away from her. She nearly called after him but a servant distracted her and she returned to her packing.

**AN- As I post this, this story has had just under 5000 views. I know this is partly made up of the same people revisiting but I still want to thank you all for reading, following, favouriting etc. It means a lot to me.  
**


	26. Of Elves and Cookery

With difficulty, Ailith liberated the small book from her pack. _Rare Plants and Fauna of the Westfold _was just about legible on the cover. She winced when she saw the condition of the book and made a mental note to make Léonere a new copy. With a sigh, she opened to the scrap of cloth she was using as a bookmark and started to read.

She lifted her eyes from the page as Éowyn sat down next to her. "I thought we could make some stew for the men," her friend said brightly. Ailith looked around. They had paused for an hour or so to allow those without horses to rest.

"I think I will sit this out. I am not much of a cook," she said. Éowyn shrugged and began to light the fire and heat a pot. Ailith tried to return to her book but she ended up watching Éowyn. Her mouth twisted and untwisted and several times she opened her mouth to make a suggestion but her voice failed her.

Eventually Éowyn slammed her knife down and glared at her friend. "Is there a problem?" she asked icily.

"I don't think you are supposed to use that part of the meat," Ailith said weakly. Éowyn dropped the meat into the pot with a glare and continued with her decidedly ham-fisted attempts to cook. A spoon was eventually thrust at Ailith.

"Taste," Éowyn commanded. Ailith obliged and tried to avoid choking on the insipid liquid. She nodded and Éowyn smiled. "I told you it would be fine!" she said and swept off with the pot to find a new victim. Ailith quickly turned her head and spat the foul mouthful onto the grass. She unplugged her water skin and rinsed her mouth out a few times.

"Are you well, my lady?" Legolas asked her, pausing as he walked past.

"Don't eat the stew," she warned him. He laughed.

"May I join you?" he asked and sat down when she nodded. "Forgive me, Lady Ailith, but I find myself slightly confused. Your people have been welcoming enough to me but I feel a slight chill come from them, yet I don't feel it from you. Have I done something to offend your people?"

"No, they are just unaccustomed to your race," she explained. "I have met Elves before, albeit very briefly, so I know you can be trusted."

She smiled and looked down as the memory of her previous encounter with Elves opened as easily as the book on her lap.

_She was tiring. Her little legs were sore from the walking and her dress still felt heavy from crossing the Limlight. Her pony had refused to ride into the waters so she had let him return South as she braved the unknown North. It was a great shame; she would have liked a companion._

_She was _not _going to Edoras. Father was silly. Yes, Mother was gone and she and Father missed her with all their hearts but there was no need to wrap her in wool like a babe! She was six, for the love of Béma!_

_Well, he would see. This wood looked like a good place to make a home with its golden light and silvery trees. It had a nice feeling. She would be a Wild Girl; she would hunt and forage and wear the skins of her kills!_

_A hand touched her shoulder and a silvery voice said "Mae govannen, Rohiril." She screamed and tried to bolt but the hand held her firmly. She was turned around and found herself facing three tall and stern-looking men dressed in grey. Her face automatically assumed its innocent expression and she peeked up at them through her lashes in what she hoped was an appealing manner._

_"It is not often that we discover one of your people in our lands; never mind one so young," the one who held her said."What shall we do with you?"_

_"She is but a child, Haldir. Let us take her to one of her father's scouts; there is no reason to bother anyone else with this matter," another said. _

_"Please, please don't hurt me," she whimpered. Haldir smiled. _

_"Do not fret. We merely want to ensure you reach your father safely," he said. _

"They took me back to my Father's scouts and then I came to Edoras. Haldir and his companions seemed friendly so I see no reason to distrust you," she finished. He nodded.

"I am a Woodland Elf, my people are different to those in Lórien, as yours are different to those in Gondor," he said.

The call to move on rang out and they both moved for their horses, both slightly better for their short conversation.

**Reviews maybe? What do you think so far?**


	27. Arrival at Helm's Deep

It was far too quiet. Ailith's horse could sense his rider's unease and whinnied nervously. She rubbed his neck in an attempt to calm him but his ears were swivelling madly, his nostrils flaring. She looked around at the other horses and they too seemed unsettled.

"Is something wrong?" Éowyn asked. She was not riding her own, instead leading it and Arod, a swift stallion that Éomer had gifted to Legolas and Gimli at their meeting, by foot.

"The horses, look at the horses," Ailith said. Éowyn looked at them and laid a comforting hand on her own horse's neck as Ailith scanned the cliffs around them. They were deep in the Westfold now and nearly into the mountains that bordered Rohan to the South. The path they were now travelling was an old glacier tract, the cliffs on either side worn away by the passage of the ice.

Long ago, in the war between Helm Hammerhand and the Dunlendings, this very path had been a favourite ambush point for both armies. The ground beneath the turf was littered with bones and it was said that at night the war-cries of the men and the whinnying of the horses echoed through the cliffs.

Ailith scanned the cliffs again and this time she made out a black shape, hidden by the glare of the sun, on a point above the lead Riders. She tried to shield her hand against the sun to see who it was but the shape leapt down the cliff and ploughed straight into one of the leading Riders.

A terrible cry filled the air, followed by a snarling and then a yelp and suddenly Aragorn was sprinting towards them.

"Wargs!" he shouted. Ailith's vision clouded over. She could hear the rumbling of paws and hooves on the hills of the Wold, feel herself crash into the turf, claws and pain tearing through her side-

"Ailith!" Éowyn said. She started and looked around wildly, her scars throbbing under her shirt.

"All Riders to the head of the column! We are under attack!" the King was shouting. Ailith spurred her horse forward but Théoden shook his head. "I need you and Éowyn to guide the people to Helm's Deep."

Ailith nodded and turned her horse, even as she heard Éowyn protest. She galloped in the opposite direction and rose in her stirrups. She gave her distinctive two-tone whistle and shouted "Follow my horse! Do not get separated!"

With Éowyn at the rear, they soon had the column turned round and moving back the way they had come. The Riders thundered off up to the head of the cliffs to face the Wargs. Ailith turned in her saddle and watched them leave. How many would return?

* * *

Her horse trotted up the great stone ramp and into Helm's Deep and for the first time in hours, Ailith breathed a sigh of relief. They were safe, for now.

She dismounted and moved with a purpose through the crowds inside the stronghold's walls.

"Where is the Captain of the Riders?" she asked an old man. He gazed back at her with sorrowful eyes.

"Dead, milady. He fell defending us as we retreated to the Hornburg," he said mournfully.

"What of the Healer of the garrison? Where is he?" she said briskly.

"Also dead," was the short reply.

Ailith turned and looked at the people crowded in the small area between the walls. Refugees from the Westfold occupied nearly every square inch, their few possessions gathered in their arms or close to their sides. Misery was on all of their faces.

"There isn't much in the way of food. I've told them to take it to the Caves," Éowyn informed her, approaching from behind. Ailith nodded.

"All refugees are to make their way to the Glittering Caves!" she commanded. "Let's keep them out of the way of the soldiers," she added to Éowyn and walked off to help unload one of the carts from Edoras.

She gathered blankets in her arms and followed the crowd slowly making its way towards the Hornburg. Beyond a hidden door of the main hall lay the Glittering Caves. They were said to be one of the great beauties of Rohan. Small holes in the rock ceiling let light through into the vast cavern. The light reflected upon pools of water and was bounced back up onto the walls. And the walls... the walls were embedded with many precious and semi-precious stones that refracted the light and sent it flickering around like candlelight.

On any other day, Ailith would have paused at the entrance to the Caves and marvelled at their beauty but today her mind was focused on preparing for the night. She laid the blankets down near the door and straightened up, surveying the cavern and the people making themselves comfortable.

Her eye fell on a small boy crouching by himself by a pool of water. He stood out from the other children because all those his eyes were a piercing Rohirric blue, his loose curls were dark brown in colour. He looked lost and confused and to every woman who passed he threw a look of hope which died almost as soon as he saw her face.

"Where is that boy's mother?" Ailith asked a woman as she ushered her own children into the Caves.

"Dead," the woman replied. "She were one of them who first fell to the Wildmen when they came."

"And his father?"

The woman snorted. "'E's a Gondor bastard, can't you tell by the colour o' his hair? Nobody seen his father for years."

"Well, can you at least see to it that he is given some food and a blanket?"

"I got me own to worry about," the woman said and gathered her own two close to her possessively. Ailith narrowed her eyes but let her pass. She approached the little boy and felt her heart give a twinge when he gave her the same look of hope.

"Hello, my name is Ailith. What is yours?" she asked kindly, kneeling down next to him.

"Cahal," he said, peering at her.

"Where is your mother, Cahal?" she asked tentatively.

"I- I don't know," he replied, his eyes filling with tears. She rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.

"Would you like to help me with some chores?" she said. He nodded and got to his feet, holding her hand with his own little fist.

She lead him out through the door and back to the cart. He loaded his arms with blankets and sprinted back to the Caves, making her laugh as he did so. Her smile faded as she saw Éowyn appear, her face completely devoid of any colour she usually had.

"The men have returned," she said weakly. Ailith gripped her arm to steady her.

"Is it the King? Is he well?" she asked.

"No. I mean, the King is fine but... Aragorn is lost," Éowyn said and sank against the cart. Ailith sat down next to her.

"Did you care for him?" she asked. A tell-tale flush crept up Éowyn's cheeks.

"No," she said, her tone of voice clearly showing the lie. Ailith was going to reproach her when she remembered Éomer, wherever he was. She missed him; possibly even more than she missed Théodred and her people waiting back home. Just thinking about him gave her that odd tight feeling in her chest again.

Could she care for him; more than as a sister?


	28. War is Upon Us

Ailith and Éowyn continued to sort through the carts from Edoras.

"I want these taken into the Caves," Éowyn called to a watching girl and handed her a pile of blankets. The girl looked like she was about to protest when Éowyn turned her back on her and continued to dig through the cart. With a face of thunder, the girl trudged off in the direction of the Caves.

"Here, you two, take these as well," Ailith added and handed items to two of her friends. As the girls disappeared, the two women exchanged looks and then burst out laughing.

"Their faces! You would have thought we asked them to run naked through the soldiers' quarters!" Ailith gasped, sinking against the cart. Éowyn laughed with her and then stopped, her eyes shining. Ailith looked behind her and saw Legolas and Aragorn standing by the door . The latter was bruised and bloody but most definitely alive.

"You should go speak with him," Ailith said. Éowyn blushed slightly but shook her head.

"There will be time for talking later," she said and picked up the last of the blankets. "Do you have all of the medical supplies you need?" she called as she started to walk away.

Ailith swung the pack with her medicines over her shoulder. "Barely. I am going to have to prioritise injuries which I really do not enjoy doing," she said, quickening her stride so she caught up with her friend. They made their way into the Hornburg and scurried through one of the many narrow corridors to reach the door to the Caves.

"We will find something to pile against the walls here," Éowyn informed her, directing with a hand, "that can be pulled across to hide the door. Just in case. We'll keep the entrance free for now if you are Healing in the main hall because we don't want you to get cut off."

Ailith nodded. Éowyn was in her element here. Although she had never had to survive a siege here, she knew the Hornburg as well as Ailith knew the Fortress and her knowledge really showed now, when it was most needed.

"Is there an escape route out of the Caves?" Ailith asked. Éowyn paused.

"There is one," she admitted. She led Ailith to the very back of the Caves to where there was a narrow fissure in the wall. Together they peered into the black passage beyond. "Éomer and I once explored it when we visited Helm's Deep with our father but we did not go very far in," Éowyn said. "I believe it comes out somewhere in the mountains, on a path that leads eventually down into Gondor. Still, I would not wish to take it unless there were no other options."

"Miladies," a gruff voice said behind them. They turned and looked at the Rider. "The King requests your presence to discuss tonight's arrangements," he said.

* * *

"They are boys!" Éowyn said. "They need to be kept safe; they came _here _to be kept safe! And in the meantime you send us to cower below in the Caves!"

"She has a point, sire," Ailith added. "Those women will know how to handle themselves, they could help the men!"

"No. A woman's place is not upon the battlefield," Théoden said calmly.

"We can both fight! Ailith is a sworn Rider; one of _your _soldiers and she has been training me in combat! Do we not have the right to defend our homeland? Let us fight tonight!" Éowyn said.

"No."

"Why not?!"

"As I said, a woman's place is not on the battlefield! War is upon us; you have other duties! Motivate the other women; keep the children happy; prepare for the return of the soldiers after the battle," Théoden said, refusing to make eye-contact with either of them. Éowyn drew herself up to her full height.

"Fine," she said coldly. "If that is what you believe."

She turned on her heel and stormed from the hall. Ailith remained behind, still staring at her King. He raised his eyes and met her gaze.

"You understand, don't you?" he said quietly. "If I let you fight then I must let her fight. And she is far too dear to me to be cut down by some filthy great Uruk whilst attempting to defend my people."

"I understand, sire, but I don't agree with your decision," she said curtly. "The women down there would gladly fight for their lives. You clearly have never had to separate an old ewe from her lamb."

* * *

"Here, try this," Ailith said as she held out the mail shirt. The boy who accepted it could not have been more than thirteen. He should be in the Glittering Caves with his mother, not getting ready to fight in a battle. The mail completely swamped him when he put it on.

A giggle from under the table made her bend down. She pressed a finger to her lips and Cahal did the same, his blue eyes shining at her adoringly. The young lad had followed her about for hours and clutched at her, wailing miserably, when she had tried to pass him over to another woman. Eventually she had just accepted him and told him to keep quiet and out of the way of the men. Thankfully he was far too young to have to fight tonight.

"They have seen too many winters!" the voice of Gimli exclaimed and she raised her head slightly, her eyes narrowing.

"Or too few," Legolas added. He stopped in the middle of the armoury. "Look; you can see the fear in their eyes."

He glanced at Aragorn and then started to speak in a flowing language which Ailith could only assume to be Sindarin. How _dare _they! She could not understand the words but she understood the tone and bristled with anger. These were a simple folk, they needed encouragement. How dare this strange warrior stand in their midst and declare them unworthy for battle!

Evidently Aragorn thought the same because he stepped forward and shouted "Then I shall die as one of them!" before storming out.

"Leave him," Gimli rumbled when Legolas tried to follow. Ailith scooped Cahal out from underneath the table and gripped his hot little hand tightly in her own. She took a deep breath and looked around.

The men looked confused and saddened. This would never do.

"_What fools these strangers are,_" she said loudly. She said it not in the Common Tongue but in the Rohirric language. There was a sniggering from some of the men and she felt the colour rise in her cheeks. When she spoke the Common Tongue, her accent was as precise and gentile as any educated lady of the court. However, when she spoke in Rohirric her accent completely collapsed into the harsh sounds typical of any commoner off the Wold. Today she could use that to her advantage, today she could speak to the men on their own level. The Common Tongue was the language of the court but Rohirric was the language of the people.

"_This is your home. In your blood is that of the people of Helm Hammerhand as the blood of Eadric the Shepherd is in mine. If I could stand beside you tonight then I would be proud to do so..."_

She looked Legolas directly in the eye and then finished with "..._as these three will be when the battle is over._"

She steered Cahal out of the armoury; Legolas following them closely.

"What were you saying to them?" he demanded.

"A little encouragement, that is all," she said shortly.

"Those men were dejected before you spoke and they are hardly ready to face battle now but they are standing a little straighter and there is a gleam in their eyes that wasn't there before!"

She spun on the spot, Cahal screaming in delight at being spun around.

"I came down to their level. Those men can barely speak the Common Tongue, they have never seen an elf before and you have the audacity to say that they are not going to live in a language that they do not even understand!" she said fiercely. "If you think that there is no way they can win then they may as well lie down inside the Deeping Wall and wait for the Uruk-hai to slaughter them in the mud like cattle."

"I merely meant that they seem unprepared-" Legolas started but she cut him off.

"No, you think they are hopeless. I sincerely hope that they prove you wrong," she said angrily. "Now excuse me, I have duties I need to attend to."

She picked up Cahal and walked off, offering up a silent prayer to Béma as she did so. War was upon the Rohirrim and they needed any help they could get. Words could only go so far.

* * *

**AN - First things first, to anyone who cares, in my head a Wold accent is similar to a Yorkshire accent. My grandmother is from Yorkshire and I find it to be a very warm and friendly accent. It is possible for an accent to fluctuate like Ailith's did as well. I myself have a mild Scottish accent but when I speak to my cousins in the South of England, I go really English.  
**

**Also, yes Ailith _won't_ be fighting in the Battle of Helm's Deep. We all know how it goes, OFC stands with Legolas and Gimli on the Deeping Wall, Legolas makes witty comment about Gimli's height and boxes, OFC gets injured when the wall explodes, blah blah blah. There are hundreds of stories where that happens on this website. I got my own plans.  
**


	29. The Battle

Cahal's arms locked around Ailith's neck and she stumbled forward, turning so she fell with her back against the make-shift bed she had made up for him and his little body on top of her.

"Let go, I have to go," she said to him.

"No," he whined and buried his soft little head against her.

"He has really become attached to you in the past few hours. It is quite extraordinary," Éowyn mused. Ailith tried in vain to detach his arms from around her neck but he refused.

"Duly noted. Next time I see a sweet-faced orphan I am going to ignore them," she said crossly. Cahal's face shot up and his bottom lip jutted out. It started to quiver, his large eyes filling with tears. "Don't you dare," she said, rolling over and laying him back down on the little bed. He relinquished his grip and she tucked him in under the blanket. "Try to get some sleep," she said softly, stroking some hair off his face.

"Night," he said brightly, all smiles and happiness again. As he drifted into sleep, the two women crept away and surveyed the Caves. Everywhere, women were gathered in small groups, those with children trying to get them to settle as Ailith had just done with Cahal and those without attempting to bring some comfort to each other.

The rain outside drummed down upon the roof of the Caves, water trickling through the vents into the pools below. Time seemed to have stopped. Outside, the battle could be yet to start or it could be raging even as they waited.

Ailith crossed to where the injured from the Warg attack lay. She moved between them, speaking gently to those who were awake and merely checking those who were asleep. Just as she bent over the last patient, a terrible noise filled the cavern.

A great crashing filtered down from above. It reverberated around the Caves, magnifying with every cycle. With it came screams and war-chants that burst through the rock as if the army of Uruk-hai were in the Caves themselves.

Children were wrenched from sleep; women from listless trances; panic and fear flooded through Ailith's body. She didn't know what to do, what words of comfort could she possibly offer them?

She moved quickly back through the Caves, desperately attempting to calm them. Cahal bolted out his bed and threw himself at her, his young face twisted with fear. She knelt and hugged him to her tightly as she tried to whisper small comforts into his ear. Then suddenly, as quickly as it had come, the din halted. Only wails and sniffs now echoed in the Caves. Cahal moaned into her shoulder.

"Shush, shush, it's over," she whispered soothingly as she rocked him back and forth. She fearfully exchanged a look with Éowyn.

But it wasn't over. If anything it grew worse; orders being shouted; cries of pain and death; the clash of weapon on weapon; all seeping down into the Glittering Caves.

It went on and on, never pausing even for a second. She had to go, she had to aid those who had been wounded on the field of battle. Yet every time she stood Cahal would sob harder and cling to her even tighter. It nearly broke her heart when she had to force him into Éowyn's arms. He fought against her, his arms stretched towards Ailith instead and tears rubbing his cheeks raw as he howled.

"I'll come back, I promise," she said to him and kissed the top of his head. She drew back before he could catch a hand in her clothes and, with a final look at Éowyn, she ran from the Caves.

Already the Hornburg was filling with the injured. She looked around the room, quickly assessing who was in most need of help. Her physician's mind clicked into place and she moved to the worst of the wounded.

* * *

She was running out of bandages. She had used all of her own stock and the Helm's Deep supply were going thick and fast. There was a pile of blankets lying nearby. She paused and then grabbed one, cutting it into strips with her dirk. It wasn't the most hygienic but it would have to do for now.

Suddenly there was a tremendous explosion that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Hornburg. Ailith was sent toppling into the pile of blankets, completely caught off guard. She fought upright.

"Earthquake?" she spluttered.

"Nay, my lady! The Deeping Wall is breached!" a soldier shouted. Fresh panic coursed through her and she ran out of the hall. She leapt up the steps to the command point where Théoden and Gamling were watching the progress of the battle.

"What on earth do you think you are doing! Get back inside!" Théoden thundered when he saw her but she barely heard him. Her eyes were fixed in horror at the Deeping Wall.

The great defence of Helm's Deep had a gaping wound in it; a great breach had been opened and the Uruks poured through it unchecked, five fresh and baying for blood for every one that fell.

She turned and stared at the legions of the enemy filling the ravine. They swelled back and forth, a great ocean of steel waiting to break forth and drown the people of Rohan.

"We really are going to die," slipped from her mouth hopelessly before she could think. The King turned to her sharply but she stared him down. She could see the doubt in his eyes.

"Get down below. And say nothing of what you have seen," he said and turned his attention back to the battle. As she hurried back inside, she heard him cry, "Aragorn! Retreat!"

* * *

The wounded now came thick and fast and Ailith had to do that which she dreaded; prioritise the injuries. As soon as one was sent off to rest, another took his place. She looked up and was surprised to find an elf seated in front of her. He was pale and shaking and, from its unnatural angle, his leg was broken.

"_Mae govannen,_" she stammered. His eyes lit up and he began to babble in Sindarin at her. She shook her head quickly. "I don't speak any more," she said. The light in his eyes faded as he asked another question. She felt along his leg and sighed.

"I am going to have to straighten it," she said, gripping it by the ankle. He paled and tried to kick her away with his other leg. She tried to ignore his protests and straightened the leg anyway. Another voice calmed him as he screamed and she looked over her shoulder to see one of the companions of Haldir from all those years ago.

"Forgive him, my lady. He is young and he only speaks our tongue," he said to her. She nodded and dug in her bag for her last precious leaf of athelas.

"Here, add this to boiling water and it shall calm him; and the others," she said and moved onto the next patient. He stared at the herb and then followed her.

"Do you have any idea what this is?" he asked incredulously.

"Its scent calms. I know little else," she said shortly, winding a bandage around a boy's head.

"That is true. It is said that it smells different to each individual," he replied, still staring at the plant.

"Fascinating. Do you require medical aid or not, sir?" she asked irritably. "If not, please leave me be."

"Ailith, Ailith! The King is injured!" the voice of Gamling shouted. She glanced once more at the elf and then followed Gamling out.

"How badly?" she asked, fearing the worst, as they strode into the main hall. She paused when she saw him standing. "He is fine, I have patients of a worse disposition to attend to," she said and turned to leave. Gamling caught her by the arm.

"Please Ailith. He is not right," he said in a low voice. "We have been forced to retreat into the Keep and it has shaken him."

"Is there a safe path for the women and children?" Aragorn was demanding. When Théoden failed to answer, he turned to Gamling and Ailith.

"There is an old path," Gamling admitted.

"To be used in an absolute emergency," Ailith agreed.

"They would not get far. The Uruks are too many in number and too swift to be outrun," Théoden said.

"We can block the entrance and myself and Éowyn shall travel at the rear!" Ailith said. "We can buy some time for the others to reach Gondor!"

"We can buy some more time for them as well. Ride out with me. Meet them head on," Aragorn said, stepping towards Théoden.

"For death and glory?" Théoden asked.

"For Rohan! For your people," the Ranger said forcefully.

"To see Edoras once more," Gamling said hollowly.

"To see the sun rise over the plains; to hear the thunder of hooves over the grass," Ailith added, a small smile on her face. More and more Riders voiced their desires. Their voices seemed to fill the hall, all clamouring to be heard by their King. They fell silent as they heard a lone voice echo up from the Caves.

_"Bealocwealm hafa__ð __fréone frecan forth onsended..."_

"Yes... yes..." the King said slowly. Pale sunlight filled the hall. "Yes! The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound once more in the Deep and our enemies shall know that if this is our end; we shall take as many of them with us we can! My people shall not end their days cowering in caves singing the funeral laments of old!"

Gimli roared his approval and charged from the hall. The word spread; Snowmane and the other horses were brought up from the stables and soon the eorlingas were mustered in the hall.

"For wrath, for ruin and for a dawn as red as the blood of Man!" Théoden cried, raising his sword in the air. As the vast swell of the Horn of Helm rumbled in the Deep, the doors swung open and the full might of the eorlingas charged forth.

Ailith ran after them, safe for they had cleared the paths of the Hornburg of all enemies in their passage. She climbed once more to the command point and watched with joy as the Riders cut a path through the Uruks.

As the sun crept over the eastern hill, another horn was heard on the wind, a horn that sent relief flooding through her. The horn of Éomer. A second horn joined it, causing her to jump and shout with happiness as the full company of Riders charged down the slopes to aid their King in battle, led by a figure of purest white.

The Riders of Éomer, together with those of the Fortress, broke through the defences of the enemy and charged them down like deer in a hunt. She smiled again and tipped back her head to shout her thanks to Béma.

She turned to leave with the intention of finding Éowyn and telling her that the danger had passed, the battle was won, when her eyes fell on the bodies within the Deeping Wall. Her smile faded and her joy was extinguished.

Her work had only just begun.

* * *

**This was the most difficult of all the chapters to write so far so I hope it is good. I will admit that I think it is the most likely candidate for a re-write if I ever do decide to go back and re-work them a tad. **

**Also, this story of mine was added to a community for good, well-rounded OFCs. I want to extend my thanks to the person who did it; I was truly honoured when I saw some of the other stories in the archive.  
**


	30. A Calm Moment

Éomer grunted as he lowered himself into the bath, his first in what seemed a lifetime. They were finally back at Meduseld. The clean-up of Helm's Deep, followed by a visit to the Wizard Saruman, had taken the best part of a day. All they had gained from Saruman were whispered rumours and a dark stone that Gandalf had claimed and kept hidden from all. The cleansing of Helm's Deep had not been without difficulties. Every familiar face, every child, who lay dead in the mud or upon the ramparts had felt like a knife to the gut. Ailith had eventually collapsed from exhaustion. Éowyn had confessed to her brother that she believed their friend had not rested since the evacuation from Edoras; always she had been required, when others slept her services were needed elsewhere.

And speaking of Ailith, she had just entered the room.

She didn't knock, she didn't pause on the threshold, she just barged straight into the room as if he was fully clothed and not sitting stark naked in an over-sized tin basin.

He swore and clung to the edge of the bath. "Ailith, I am trying to wash," he said stiffly.

"And?" she replied, moving further into the room. "I'm a physician. I've seen more naked men than you women."

She smirked at his discomfort and turned to shut the door.

When she turned back he was still clinging to the edge of the tub as if it was about to be swept away by a flood, glaring at her furiously.

"Physician or not, you are both female and one of my oldest friends. I would rather not be so... vulnerable," he said. She rolled her eyes but hurled his cloak at him from where he had discarded it. He caught it and spread it over the bath so he was shielded from her. "Are you wanting something?" he asked.

She held up a shirt. "Éowyn has repaired the seam. She's busy with preparations for tonight so I volunteered to take it to you."

"Could you not have repaired it?" he grinned.

"Were you wanting a shirt or a rag to mop the floor with?" she asked and threw herself backwards onto his bed. The room fell silent, save for the quiet lapping of the water against Éomer's bath as he moved. Éomer watched his friend. Even from here he could see the shadows creeping under her eyes. Her mouth twitched several times and her clenched hands relaxed, revealing eight small, red semi-circles on her palms from where her nails had dug in.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly. Her nose wrinkled.

"Exhausted. All I want is a calm moment, is that too much to ask? I've had to unpack, update my inventory, let myself by led off by Cahal when he discovers something interesting to show me, shift benches around the Golden Hall and, just to top it off, that insufferable nag Dernhild keeps cornering me to lecture me on my _unladylike conduct_ and to enquire when I am going to find myself a husband."

She groaned and rubbed her hands across face before rolling over onto her front. Her hair tumbled across her face and she smiled at him sleepily. "It never stops," she said.

"A calm moment would be most welcome," he agreed. Maybe it was just the way she was lazily sprawled across his bed with her hair all tousled but she had never looked so desirable.

"Dernhild would probably have a coronary if she found me in here right now," she added as she sat up.

He grinned and attempted to quell that little voice in the back of his mind willing her to lie down again. "Actually, I think she would probably end up collapsing from lack of breath from gabbling about it to anybody who listened," he said. "Have you decided what you are going to do with Cahal?"

"Yes. He is going to return to the Fortress with myself and my men when this business is finished," she said. "We can give him a good life there."

"And you? Are you truly feeling well again?" he asked. Her gaze hardened. When she had collapsed, it had been screaming after uncovering a Captain of the Elvish army. She had been carried into the Hornburg to rest, muttering, "He caught me, he caught me," repeatedly as she went. Folcred told Éomer afterwards that the Elf had been the one to bring her back to her Fortress after she ran away from home, all those long years ago.

"I just wasn't expecting to Haldir again, especially not like that," she said stiffly. When he tried to press the matter, she snapped, "I do not particularly want to talk about it!"

She stood up and crossed to the door.

"I'll see you tonight," she said, leaning against it.

"Make sure you sort your hair, or Dernhild will think you have a potential husband hidden away somewhere," he called after her. She laughed and left the room, smoothing her hair as she went.

He pulled the cloak off the bath and leant back. He shut his eyes and sighed deeply. She was unbelievable.

His eyes flew open.

By Béma, as she left the room, had she flicked her hips at him?

* * *

Ailith tried to keep an eye on Cahal as he weaved through the legs of the crowd. It was an impossible task; eventually she gave up and trusted that he would keep himself safe. Her eye was caught by another young head, this covered in sandy brown curls, moving towards the table with the ale. The boy lifted two tankards down and dodged swiftly across the Hall to another. Ailith watched in case they handed the tankards to a Rider but was appalled to see them chink the tankards together and drink deeply with no-one about them challenging them. She angrily pushed through the crowd but stopped when she saw their faces. The faces of adults, good-natured and mischievous, but adults nevertheless.

"You are Halflings!" she exclaimed.

"We prefer the name Hobbits," the eldest of the two said rather indignantly. "Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, pleased to meet your acquaintance."

"Or, Merry and Pippin to our friends," the younger said, sticking a long pipe into the corner of his mouth.

"Ailith," she replied. "Forgive me for staring but... one of my favourite stories concerns a Halfling." She paused and then corrected herself. "A Hobbit," she said, the word feeling strange on her tongue. The two exchanged a look and then burst out laughing.

"Oh, old Bilbo would be so flattered to know that his story is told by people he doesn't know!" Pippin hooted.

"You know him!" she exclaimed.

"Of course we do! Every Hobbit in the shire knows dear old Bilbo!" Merry agreed. He kicked Pippin playfully. "Stop smoking! You will go through your barrel in no time at this rate!"

Ailith left them bickering and walked towards where Éomer was standing drawing mugs of ale and placing them on a table.

"... and no regurgitation!" Gimli crowed happily and ploughed straight into his first tankard. Ailith watched as Legolas picked up another and steadily began to drink.

"Oh, Éomer, you haven't," she said exasperatedly. He looked at her with a wicked grin.

"It's tradition. Our friends here are to be made honorary Riders, they must be able to hold their own on all types of battlefield. Have you never attempted the Ancient Challenge?" he asked.

"I like having a functioning liver!" she snapped.

One of the men watching Legolas and Gimli made a sound that sounding an awful lot like a chicken squawking. Ailith's head whipped round, her eyes narrowed.

"Just clearing my throat," the Rider grinned. Éomer wrapped a hand around her waist.

"Relax, this is supposed to be a celebration," he whispered in her ear and then raised his voice so the others could hear. "Perhaps the Lady would like to place a small wager on who will be the victor?"

"Legolas," she said without hesitation. Éomer looked at the table. Already, Gimli was pulling ahead of his companion.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"The Lady made her choice and she stands by it!" she said sweetly. "The Elf."

"Heheheh! It's the dwarves that go swimming, with little hairy women!" Gimli slurred, bouncing up and down on his bench. Éomer and the Riders laughed heartily and even Ailith struggled not to let out a chuckle.

"He's going to go soon," she laughed, leaning into Éomer. "Prepare to lose."

"Something is affecting me!" Legolas announced. He held up a hand and looked at it in confusion. "A slight tingle, here in my fingers."

"You were saying?" Éomer said, raising an eyebrow at Ailith.

"Wha' did I say? Pa always said Elves can't hold their liquor!" Gimli slurred. As they watched, his eyes slowly crossed and he fell backwards off the bench.

"Game over," Legolas said. "Thank you for the trust, Ailith." He gave a small bow to her which she returned with a mock-curtsey.

"I win!" she sang at Éomer and, patting him fondly on the cheek and laughing merrily, she moved off into the crowd. Éomer watched her weave in between people in that glorious blue dress of her mother's. She still looked exhausted and her hair was not braided, instead hanging loose down her back, but she looked every bit as lovely as she had that night at the Fortress. He followed her.

She had paused in the centre of the Hall to watch Merry and Pippin dance and sing on a table.

"What do you want for your prize?" he said in her ear as he came up behind her.

"I'll think of something," she said. Her heart beat faster as she felt him wrap his arms around her again.

"Get off me, you lummox. Someone will see!" she said, playfully digging him in the ribs.

"Good point. If Dernhild was to see then no doubt she would no doubt faint from sheer joy at the gossip possibilities," he grinned. "The Third Marshal and the female Rider."

She glanced over her shoulder at him and then moved towards a door to a back corridor, knowing that he was following her.

Even before the door had fully closed behind them, they were in each other's arms. A little bit of desperation, a little bit of longing for human comfort in the face of all that had happened and a little bit of feelings long kept suppressed all came together as she locked her arms around his neck, his hands caressing her back and hair.

As Éomer's lips trailed down her neck and collarbone, she let out a small sigh. She didn't want this moment, this beautiful calm moment, to ever come to an end.

* * *

**Two little references to The Hobbit in the form of Bilbo and Gimli's Pa. :) I nearly burst into tears about three times while watching that film, I just loved it so much. And I am getting me a Bofur hat from somewhere.**

**A very merry Christmas to you! :)  
**


	31. Like Mother, Like Daughter

"I think I've forgotten the excuse I gave Folcred," Ailith said. Éomer chuckled and pulled her closer to him. They were lying in the shelter of a small knoll on the Plains, Éomer's cloak underneath them and Ailith's on top.

"I think it was something about replenishing your stocks," he said. She turned to face him so their noses were touching.

"And yours?"

"Do I need an excuse?"

She opened her mouth to answer but he swiftly kissed her instead. She smiled and climbed on top of him.

"Why do you wear these damn things?" he grunted as he tried to hitch her skirts up higher. With a carefree laugh, she pushed his shoulders down and then moved her grip to his wrists when he tried to pull his shirt off.

"I've seen your bare chest enough times and it's not exactly warm out here," she grinned, threading her fingers through his hair and leaning down to kiss him again.

"I doubt warmth is going to be an issue, Lady Physician," he said and wrapped his arms across her back.

They froze as they heard the thunder of hooves across the grass. Ailith rapidly climbed off Éomer and he pulled the cloak over her.

"Keep your head down," he said. She pressed her head into the grass of the Plains, her heart thumping.

She was both unmarried and a noblewoman. To be caught with Éomer like this would mean ruin. She did not care so much for the social exile but the shame on her people that would come with it. The people of the Wold would forever be looked down upon by the rest of Rohan. Situations like this happened all over the country; it was if the couple got caught that then the eyes would narrow and the lips would curl and whisper as they passed.

Also, although Théoden would never directly block a relationship outright without good reason, he still had some say in the marriages between his court. It was far too early in Éomer and Ailith's fledgling romance to even mention the word marriage but Ailith could not afford anything else to hurt her reputation.

"They've gone; they didn't see us," Éomer said after a while. She pulled the cloak off herself, her shoulders trembling.

"That was too close," she said, burying her head in her hands.

"Why are you so worried? We aren't going to get caught!" he blurted out. She frowned and looked away across the Plains. With a sigh, he pulled her into his embrace.

"We've done nothing wrong," he said calmly and pressed his cheek to the top of her head.

"We aren't a farmhand and his master's daughter on some holding in the Westfold," she said thickly. "We are important people in the court."

"We are not going to get caught," he repeated. "If and when we are ready, I will tell Théoden and everything will be fine."

* * *

"Has anyone else noticed? Lord Éomer has himself a woman hidden away somewhere," Dernhild said. Ailith's heart froze and she hesitated for a moment to calm herself. They were sitting in a corner of the Hall with the other women of the court, attempting to finish straightening Meduseld after the celebrations a few nights prior.

"What makes you say that?" Éowyn asked coldly. Dernhild made herself more comfortable on her seat. As more women looked towards her with interest, her smug smirk became wider and wider.

"Why, anyone could see it. You are his sister, you claim to know him better than anyone else. Do you not see it?" the elder woman replied. All the women looked across the Hall at Éomer where he was standing with the King and Gamling. He felt their eyes upon them and looked up at them. Ailith felt her heart pump and she hoped that he wouldn't look at her.

However, he was used to being ogled at by women. He was one of the most eligible men in Edoras; being a Marshal, a Lord and a very handsome young man.

He looked at them for a fraction of a second and then returned his attention to Théoden.

"I know him very well, Dernhild. I think he would tell me if he had feelings for someone," Éowyn said frostily and stood to leave. Ailith stood with her, wanting to get away before she made a mistake.

Dernhild raised her eyebrows.

"Well, if he has, I hope it just some serving girl who caught his eye," she said dismissively.

Éowyn spun around, fire burning in her eyes.

"Why, is my brother not good enough for anyone else? Are you hoping it is just some plain little wench so you can humiliate her like you do with everyone!" she snarled. Ailith laid a warning hand on her friend's shoulder.

Dernhild met her gaze coolly.

"No. I merely say that because we all know what happened the last time two of the nobility fooled around together," she said pompously... and then looked directly at Ailith. The other women clucked to each other and nodded their heads.

Ailith felt the heat rise in her cheeks. The old nag couldn't possibly be referring to her and Éomer. Nobody knew. They had not even confided in Éowyn yet as the relationship was so fresh. Her mind quickly ran through the other possibilities. She couldn't have been referring to that misunderstanding with Boda?!

"What are you talking about?" she asked slowly. Dernhild gave that cruel little smile again.

"Your mother could have had the pick of any Lord in the Riddermark. Instead, she lets her head get turned by your father when he comes to Meduseld to give a report," she informed Ailith. "Next thing we know, they have been having improper intimacies and she has got it into her pretty little head to run off to that heap of stone you call home."

She smiled as Ailith's face turned white.

"Do you want to say that again!" Ailith demanded shrilly. "My mother and father loved each other!"

Folcred detached himself from the group by the King and touched her shoulder with a concerned, "My Lady?"

"Nobody is doubting that they loved each other, child," Dernhild laughed silkily. "After all, she gave up all of this for a draughty, run-down hall in the North! And what did it do for her? Social exclusion and an early death!"

Folcred's hand instantly closed on Ailith's shoulder to warn her not to say anything.

"Lady Dernhild," he said. She sneered at his thick accent but lifted her chin to indicate she was listening. "Lady Gléowyn was only with us in our draughty hall for a short time but everyone loved and respected her. There are little girls on the Wold, who did not even know her, who have more respect for her than you just showed."

He moved his hand to Ailith's back and steered her away. He paused and clicked his fingers as if he had just remembered something. With a big false grin on his face, he turned back to her.

"One more thing. I am a happily married man and my wife is not your daughter. Please stop her from attempting to get into my bed."

As Folcred steered her from the Golden Hall, Ailith was vaguely aware of laughter and Dernhild trumpeting like a wounded mûmak. All she could think about was the anger, the red-hot anger building and building inside of her. The door to her chamber was opened and she walked obediently inside.

Next thing she knew, her sword was in her hand and a primal scream was exploding out of her mouth.

* * *

Éomer approached Ailith's room cautiously. Everyone had heard Dernhild's snide remarks and everyone had heard the screams of outrage echoing from Ailith's bedchamber.

Folcred was standing guard outside her room. He looked around and nodded when he saw Éomer.

"How is she?" he asked.

"She was just told that the mother and father she barely knew did not have a standard courtship," he said drily.

"Why should that matter to her?" Éomer asked cautiously. "The remarks were callous and unnecessary but she can usually brush them off."

Folcred looked him directly in the eye and then said, "Maybe she is worried that she is making the same mistakes."

Éomer felt his face colour.

"My Lord Marshal, the North waits for no Man. We do things differently on the Wold and as far as I'm concerned, you are both fully grown adults. There is no reason why you should play stupid courting games," the Captain said briskly. Éomer nodded and pushed open the door.

Ailith was sitting on the floor of her chamber, her mother's blue dress spread over her lap. He sat next to her.

"I'm doing exactly what she did. Except I can't run away," she mumbled quietly. Her hands clenched the blue material.

"I can barely remember her and now I find out that my perception of her is wrong."

"What can you remember?" he asked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Her expression softened.

"She had long, fair hair," she said quietly, "and she liked to sing. That's all really."

"I think she would be very proud of you. Both your parents would be very proud of you, Ailith. If you stop acting like a damn coward," he said.

"I'm not a coward!" she snapped, trying to get away from him. He pulled her in tighter and forced her to meet his gaze.

"Really? The Ailith I know would have given that fat mare a piece of her mind, not allow herself to be led off to work out her anger on the furniture of her chambers."

His hazel eyes flicked over to where her sword was embedded in her washstand.

"What's wrong with you? It's almost as if your fire is dying out, even as my sister's grows," he sighed. She didn't answer. He sighed again and stood up, pulling her with him.

"While you were having your little temper tantrum, the beacons were lit. Gondor requires our aid. Théoden is busy preparing for the Muster at Dunharrow. He is commanding _all_ Riders to be present."

She met his gaze with a mischievous smile.

"All Riders, you say. How interesting."

"There's the Ailith I know. It would be a shame if the Riders from the Fortress did not have their Lord to lead them into battle."

"Yes," she said, turning to look at the chest where her armour lay. "It would be, wouldn't it?"

* * *

"Sire, I would speak with you a moment," Ailith said behind Théoden.

"I am very busy at the moment and I have no time to mediate any spats between you and the ladies of the courts," he said wearily.

"That is not why I wish to speak to you," she said earnestly. "I wish to ride with you into battle."

He looked at her in shock. She was dressed in the full, gleaming armour of a Rider. The green cloak was carefully arranged over her shoulders, her hair pulled into the half braid favoured by the Riders who liked their hair off their faces. Her young face was set in such a determined expression that for a minute he was reminded of her father.

"Battle is no place for women," he said.

"Nor is it a place for boys but you consented to let them fight at Helm's Deep. I won't allow my Riders to go into battle without their Lord," she said.

"And they won't," he said, clasping a hand to her shoulder. "If you think you are capable of fighting in battle, then of course you can join us."

Her eyes lit up and she had to fight an impulse to hug him. Instead she quickly bowed and then turned, her eyes seeking out her next target. She quickly crossed the Hall.

"Lady Dernhild," she said as she whipped one of her gloves from her belt and dangled it in front of Dernhild's face. "Next time you impugn the honour of my family, this glove will land in the dirt by the feet of your son. And let me assure you, I will win."

"You have no honour, no decorum!" Dernhild snarled, her face turning an ugly puce colour.

"Then I guess I am my mother's daughter," she replied. She smiled coldly and left the spluttering woman. Éowyn drew level with her.

"So, you are being allowed to fight then," she said unhappily. Ailith sighed expansively and linked arms with her friend.

"Do you want to know one of the major problems of a Muster?" she said. "There is an awful lot of spare armour lying around. More often than not, it goes missing."

She gave Éowyn a meaningful look. Éowyn smiled slowly as comprehension dawned.

"I should make sure I take my sword then. In case we have to... fight off any armour thieves," she said.


	32. The First Law

Cahal's fingers tightened around the reins of Ailith's horse, his chest pumping with short sharp breaths of pride.

"There you are, you are in control now," Ailith smiled. Her horse gave a small snicker of a whinny. He knew that from her position seated behind Cahal, she could control him just as well as if she held the reins.

"Am I a Rider now?" the young boy asked hopefully. The Riders about them all laughed and his cheeks reddened. She wrapped her arms around him protectively.

"You are on the right path," she said.

"You will make a fine Rider, young sir," Folcred added from their left. "Where in Rohan breeds the best Riders?" he called.

"The Wold!" hollered the Riders. Only the ones from the Wold, of course. The others smirked or exchanged side-long glances.

Dunharrow loomed in the distance.

"What do we do when we get to the Muster?" Cahal asked.

"We set up the tents. We wait for the other Riders to arrive. And then we leave for Minas Tirith," she said.

"And what do we do while we are waiting?" the young boy asked.

Ailith's eyes wandered across the many Riders ahead of them until they found Éomer riding beside the King.

"We entertain ourselves," she said.

* * *

Éomer's fingers trailed down her side and stroked each of the three long scars.

"I should go. Éowyn and Cahal will be wondering where I am," she said sleepily. His arms instantly tightened around her.

"Maybe I don't want to you go just now," he said and kissed her hard. She propped herself up on her elbows and let him lift some of the hair off her face.

"I suppose they won't miss me for a few minutes more," she grinned.

"My lady!" Folcred's voice hissed and something slapped the thick canvas walls of the tent.

"Your lady isn't here," Éomer called jovially. "She's training your men."

The tent flap flew back and Folcred ducked inside.

"My lady, you are needed in the King's tent now," he said.

"Can it not wait?" Éomer asked but Ailith had caught the foreign note of panic in Folcred's usually calm voice. Instantly she was off the pallet of furs and blankets that made the bed and scrabbling for her clothes.

"What is it, what's happened?" she asked. Folcred's face was pale.

"Boda came with news. The Fortress..." he stammered. She froze, her eyes large and round, and then made to leave but Éomer grabbed her arm.

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't go out into the camp in that state and you certainly can't go before my uncle!" he barked but she just shrugged him off and followed Folcred.

She burst into Theoden's tent with only a cry of "What news of the Fortress?" as a warning of her arrival.

"Your scout here reports that a large army is massing beyond the Anduin in the shadows of Mirkwood. They will strike soon," Théoden informed her wearily. She looked wildly between him and Boda who was shakily drinking ale, his face gaunt.

"Well, how many Riders can you spare to send to the Fortress, sire?" she asked. Théoden didn't reply. Ailith began to shake her head as a horrible realisation crept over her. Her eyes filled with tears.

"No, no, you can't, you can't!" she screamed. Éomer grabbed her from behind before she could move closer to Théoden but unlike that time all those months before, when she had spat and fought at Gríma and he had just held her back, this time he cradled her as she fought. Eventually she stopped fighting and slid to the floor, her sobs turning into forlorn howls. Still Éomer held her, glaring at his uncle. The King's eyes slowly took the pair of them in, hastily clothed as they were with hair a mess, and he nodded in understanding.

"Please. Please, my lord. Don't leave them. There is no-one else, nobody else to protect them," she sobbed, her head against Éomer's shoulder.

"Éomer, take her away. She is hysterical," Théoden said. "I can only fight a war on one front." Ailith looked up at him as Éomer lifted her to her feet. She shrugged off his hand as he tried to lead her out and stared in disbelief at Théoden.

"I am the Lord of the Wold. I am the Shepherd," she said, her voice steady. Théoden stopped and stared at her as she spoke. From behind her, she heard the breath catch in the throats of Boda and Folcred and she knew without looking around that they would be mouthing the words along with her. What she was reciting was known on the Wold as the First Law and it formed the basis of the Oath of the Lord. Everybody on the Wold knew at least part of the Law and even though she was speaking the Common Tongue, Ailith could hear her accent fluctuate into her Northern accent.

"The Shepherd shall protect his flock as the Stallion protects his herd for without him they are lost. He is their counsel and their shield against the night," she continued. "I am that shield, I am the Blade in the Darkness and the Spear in the Wind." Her voice caught in her throat and she shut her eyes, composing herself for the end. "For the North waits for no Man," she said, tears rolling down her face once more. "Except for the coming of the King who will save them. For who can protect us if not the King when I have failed in my duties and all hope is lost."

"The North waits for no Man," Folcred and Boda echoed behind her. Silence crept through the tent.

"There is no-one to defend the Fortress?" Théoden asked.

"A handful of boys who can throw a spear straight. No Riders, no fighters," she said bitterly. The King sank into his chair, a hand across his eyes. His other hand tapped out a steady rhythm on the arm of his chair.

"Take your men and go," he said eventually.

"Thank you, sire-" she started to say but he cut her off.

"I don't want your thanks. I need every spear I can get but I have a feeling that you will leave no matter what I say. So go... but I will not be responsible for what the other Riders will say about your actions. Now go," he said and refused to look at her again. She turned and left.

"Are you really just going to up and leave?" Éomer thundered outside the tent.

"Of course. Folcred, Boda, go rouse our men. Try to do it quietly; I want as little fuss as possible," she replied almost dreamily. They nodded and then vanished into the camp, leaving Ailith and Éomer alone.

"Why?" he asked.

"I am the Shield against the Night," she said in the same hollow voice.

"Is that all you are going to say?" he demanded. Her eyes slid to his face. They focused on the jaw tightening and she smiled emptily.

"Goodbye, Éomer," she said and reached up to kiss his cheek. He said nothing, instead pressing something into her hand and storming off into the camp. She looked down into her palm. Her father's ring. He must have forgotten to return it to her. She slipped it onto her finger and then returned to the tent she was supposed to be sharing with Éowyn.

As she swiftly packed her saddle-bags, the tent flap slapped back.

"Why are you leaving?" Éowyn asked hurriedly. "You can't leave, not now!"

"I must, Éowyn," she said.

"Why?!"

"I feel like I am being torn in two. My head is telling me to fulfil my duty; my heart is begging me to return to the Wold and I don't know what to do!" she said through gritted teeth.

"Follow your duty!" her friend exclaimed.

"It's not that simple!" she cried back. "You do not understand the effect the Wold has on us; it is like a parent. When I am there, my thoughts are clear and concise and I know exactly what I'm doing. Ever since I left, I've felt lost. I feel like I'm spinning in circles and I can't stop. If the Fortress falls, I and all my Riders will fall with it. It is that simple."

Éowyn stared at her, her grey eyes welling with tears.

"I want you beside me in battle, Ailith."

"I want you to be beside me as well but I am needed elsewhere. I can't ride to aid another country if my home isn't safe," she replied. "I have to go."

Éowyn nodded.

"The Shieldmaidens shall have to fight separate battles then," she said. They embraced tightly, for what they hoped would not be the last time.

"Remember, it is very important that you find a helm which covers your face," Ailith said. "The Riders were only expecting to see one woman on the battlefield and when word gets around of my departure then they will expect to see none."

"And you remember to watch your left side; you parry weakly on that side," Éowyn replied. "I hope I see you again, my sister."

The evening air of the camp outside the tent was still and cool. Cahal was dozing lightly by the time they were ready to leave and he stirred as she set him on her saddle. He slumped against her as she mounted and she stroked his dark hair off his face. Should she really take him with her? Her original plan had been to leave him in the care of the other women of the court when they rode back to Edoras. Was it really safe to take him North?

A shadow moved in the camp and she turned her horse defensively, her hand going to her sword. Aragorn stepped out of the shadows with his hands raised in peace.

"I heard you were leaving," he said.

"You heard correct," she said.

"You are not alone. I feel a darkness growing and I fear I too may have to leave the company of your King before the night is out," he said. His eyes strayed to the mountain looming over them. Ailith didn't look. She actively ignored it; it was possibly the only place in Rohan that gave her the chills.

"If you take the path I think you seek, then the darkness will claim you," she warned him.

"Possibly. But if we do not stand against it then it will claim us all," he replied, still meeting the mountain's watchful gaze.

"Safe riding, Aragorn," she said and he inclined his head towards her.

"And to you, Lady Ailith," he replied.

The Riders of the Wold trotted quickly and quietly through the camp. Eyes watched them everywhere but no comments reached their ears. They reached the borders of the camp and the horses, eager to be off, surged forward.

As Dunharrow fell behind them, Cahal stirred in Ailith's arms and he looked sleepily at his surroundings.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"To my home. And your home now," she told him, pulling him closer to her. "Cahal, I don't know what we will find there. If I tell you to run, I want you to run. As far from us as possible. Do not stop until you get back to Edoras. Do you promise?"

"I promise," he replied. She kissed the top of his head fondly and wondered if he really would run if she said to. She hoped that he would run if it came to it.

They didn't know what they would find back home. If home was still there.

* * *

**Firstly, only one woman fought in the Battle of Pelennor Fields and her name wasn't Ailith. I'm a bit of a stickler for things like that so it was very hard to mould the story around this decision, in particular with Théoden. I really hope he doesn't seem uncaring.  
**

**Secondly, obviously it has been some time since I last updated. When I need to get back into writing I tend to listen to a lot of music and I am always drawn to one particular genre when I do this. This time it was to what can be best described as Scottish Folk and Heritage songs. These are a handful of songs which nearly everyone in Scotland knows the lyrics to; and _Caledonia_ by Dougie MacLean I found to reflect some of the emotions Ailith found herself going through in this chapter. I don't normally jump on the "Song per Chapter" bandwagon but I suggest you go and listen to _Caledonia. _If anything, it is a beautiful song. If you don't want to, here at least is the chorus, the part I think reflects Ailith's feelings the most.  
**

**_Oh, but let me tell you that I love you_  
_That I think about you all the time_  
_Caledonia you're calling me_  
_And now I'm going home_  
_If I should become a stranger_  
_You know that it would make me more than sad_  
_Caledonia's been everything_  
_I've ever had_**


	33. The Shieldmaiden

The Fortress still stood. For now.

Ailith stood upon the battlements at the top of the keep. A wind blew her hair off her shoulders and she shivered in her woollen gown.

The door down into the keep opened and Merewald stepped out to join her lady. She handed Ailith a cup of hot mead.

"Everyone is settled," she said. A noise rose in Ailith's throat to indicate that she had heard. "The Riders are bedded down for the night and Grimfast is running over the final plans with the reserves," Merewald continued. Ailith's eyes didn't move from the lights of the Enemy's camp.

"They tried Helm's Deep and failed. Now they try the Fortress and I cannot guess the outcome. There are so many of them..." she said.

"You did the right thing, my lady. Returning to us," Merewald said quietly.

"Did I, Merewald? Did I really?" she asked forlornly.

"Of course. Better to die defending your home and a place you love than in some field in a foreign land where no-one knows who you are and your burial is nowt but in a mass grave with a prayer to Béma hastily muttered over you," Merewald sniffed. "Forget what those jumped-up Riders from Edoras will say. We are of the North, and we have our own ways."

"The North waits for no Man," Ailith murmured.

"Aye milady. For no Man," Merewald agreed.

* * *

The next morning was cool and misty.

"This fog hides the Enemy," Grimfast noted from their position on the battlements.

"Wonderful," Ailith snapped. Her Captains exchanged a look behind her back.

"Everything is prepared, milady. We await your command," Folcred said. Without a word, she turned and walked swiftly down into the courtyard to where her Riders were waiting.

She mounted her horse and let her fingers twist around the reigns. She breathed deeply and lifted her head. The Riders watched her expectantly. All her training and instruction she had received over the years should have prepared her for this moment. She was supposed to be their leader; she was supposed to inspire the soldiers to victory.

Or to a noble end.

The door to the Keep opened and Merewald stepped out into the morning air. As their eyes met, her words from the previous night came flooding back.

"Brothers!" she shouted. "The King rides to the aid of Minas Tirith but we are needed here to defend _our _homes. The Enemy may outnumber us but we shall ride out and we shall let them know that we will not stand down! So long as one man remains alive, with a horse to bear him and a sword and spear for him to wield, then this Fortress is ours and ours alone. The Fortress is the Northern Gate to Rohan and we shall not let it fall! We are Rohirric and we face battle with pride!"

The men cheered and followed her horse as she spurred him around and towards the gate.

"Good speech," Grimfast muttered behind her and she smiled. The lines of horsemen formed in front of the Fortress' walls and trotted forward towards the approaching black lines of the enemy. They seemed to stretch forever, hundreds of orcs and Wargs and other foul creatures. Ailith looked at her own small contingent and her hands began to shake with nerves. She turned in her saddle and ran her eyes over the lines of reserves on the battlements with their bows and then her gaze lifted to the flag of Rohan. It flew from the highest point of the Keep, the green and white bright against the darkened sky.

The hand that drew her sword was as steady as ever.

"For the Wold! And for Rohan!" she shouted and the cry was taken up along the lines. Brassy calls rang from their horns and the horses moved forward with a grim purpose.

As they gathered speed, Ailith shut her eyes and slightly prayed to Béma for both them and those in Gondor. Then she added her voice to the battle-cry and the Riders of the Wold plunged into the Enemy.

She hacked a path through the gibbering orcs, her horse's hooves churning the earth below him as he jumped from side to side. The orcs tried in vain to cut her down but the horse and the Rider were moving as one. On and on they ploughed, their foes lying dead behind them.

Suddenly an arrow came out of no-where and Ailith found herself tumbling forwards as her horse went down. Her back hit the ground and she bounced once before scrambling to her feet. She felt no pain or injury; the adrenaline was carrying her too high.

Her sword flew in wide arcs. It bit savagely into any orc that neared her. She had to find a shield and quickly; she knew she was vulnerable with only a sword to defend herself. A great Uruk reared up in front of her and slashed at her with its blade. She felt white hot pain slice into her side and she stabbed desperately.

As the Uruk fell, she staggered away. Another Uruk, froth dripping from his mouth, charged towards her. She saw Folcred riding towards the pair, wild desperation on his face and his sword ready to strike. She shut her eyes.

There was a great crash and the sound of wood creaking. All around her, she heard the orcs shrieking in panic and the captains screaming, "Stand your ground, maggots!"

She opened her eyes and for a single moment wondered if she was having some sort of insane hallucination.

Trees, trees smashing their way onto the battlefield. She climbed unsteadily to her feet and watched them carefully. When she realised they were only attacking the orcs and leaving the green-clad Riders unharmed, a low chuckle escaped her throat. She fell to her knees again.

Once again, the people of Rohan were saved.

* * *

Merewald finished tying the bandage around Ailith's waist and washed her hands.

"There, that will do for now. When I've treated the others I will give you something more substantial," she said. Ailith nodded her thanks and pulled her shirt back on. She walked out into the courtyard and looked about. With the intervention of the trees, less than a third of the Wold's Riders had fallen to the Enemy. If they had not come, then the Fortress would probably be little more than a pile of rubble now.

Grimfast approached her. "Our friends want to speak to you," he said.

"What?" she said. "The trees want to talk to me?"

"No, the Ents leading the trees. Léonere is beside himself with excitement; apparently they have not been seen in Rohan for hundreds of years," he explained. She followed him up to the top of the wall with some confusion.

Léonere was standing speaking to a face level with the top of the wall. The face was good-natured and very wise but it was most definitely a tree. She hesitated.

"My lady, may I introduce Treebeard," Léonere said to her.

"Thank you for helping our people," she said uncertainly to the face and it creaked into a smile.

"_Hoom. _It was the least we could do; you have protected the Northern borders of our forest for generations," he said. "And War teems through other lands. It need not spread here again. Your country can now heal its hurts and become green once again."

She paused.

"Other lands? You mean... other lands such as Gondor?"

"Yes. Word of both your predicament and the horde that awaits Minas Tirith was carried to us on the wind by young seeds. They do babble but their tales are accurate," he acknowledged.

Her face paled.

"A horse! Bring me a fresh horse!" she shouted.

"My lady! You can't!" Grimfast and Léonere protested but she was away and running down into the courtyard. A stable-hand quickly ran towards her and handed her the reins of a new horse. She mounted with difficulty and gasped as pain spasmed through her side.

"My lady?" the stable hand asked worriedly.

"I'm fine," she said and spurred the horse back out through the gates. She had to reach Gondor. She didn't know why, but she knew she had to.

* * *

Ailith had once read that the Pelennor Fields were beautiful and plentiful fields stretching almost from Osgiliath all the way to the Minas Tirith. She had always longed to see such agriculture; there was none quite like it in Rohan.

She reined in her horse and a small gasp escaped from her. The fields were blackened and churned by the Enemy. Pain spasmed through her side and she grimaced before letting her horse begin to trot towards the White City. Her fingers probed her ribs. It didn't feel clean and when she had rested earlier it had smelt diseased. Yet something kept her from attending to it properly, instead pushing her on and on towards Minas Tirith.

She gagged as the stench of death grew stronger the closer she got to the city. The giant carcasses of the mûmakil were attracting the carrion in their droves, as were the bodies of the Orcs. Only one great and headless body was given a wide berth by all.

Her horse slowed. She patted his neck gingerly and urged him forward towards the cluster of green tents beneath the broken walls of the city.

"Gamling!" she shouted at the first familiar face she saw. He turned with shock and hurried towards her.

"Lady Ailith? What are you doing here? We thought you had returned home!" he said as she dismounted. Her legs wobbled dangerously and she quickly put out a hand to steady herself against Gamling.

"You are injured," he said gravely.

"Nothing that I can't handle," she replied and took a few steps away. Gamling followed her. With a dreadful whinny, her horse collapsed on all fours from exhaustion but she barely noticed. All her energy was focused on keeping herself upright.

"Gamling, where is the King?" she asked through gritted teeth. Gamling paused, his face strangely impassive.

"The King has gone to the Houses of Healing within the City," he said hollowly. She stared at him.

"Théoden is injured? Is he seriously injured?" she asked. He shook his head.

"The King has gone to the Houses of Healing... to seek aid for his sister, Éowyn, who was found in a comatose state on the field of battle," he said. Her face paled.

"Éowyn? No, please, no... Éowyn, Éomer, Théoden," she moaned and tried to stumble towards the city again.

"My lady, you are injured and you need to rest," Gamling said. She shook her head and took another step.

"My lady?" he asked as she stopped, swaying dangerously.

He stepped closer, a hand stretching towards her. "Ailith!" he shouted as she fell backwards, her face devoid of any colour and blood seeping through her clothes.

* * *

**Apologies if it felt a bit rushed in any way. Real life got a bit hectic for me recently and I've only just began to get back into writing. This was by far the most difficult of my stories to update.  
**


	34. Goodbye

Ailith's eyes fluttered open and stared at the white ceiling. She closed them and stirred under the blankets before opening them again.

"Good, you are awake at last," a familiar voice said to her right. She turned her head, her mouth falling open.

"Cousin," she said with surprise. Beleg lit his pipe and gave it a few experimental puffs.

"Yes, little Rohiril. I'm here. And you are lucky to be here. You have been busy; last time I saw you, you were not so scarred and battle-worn. What have you been doing?" he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

"Doing what you told me to do," she said curtly, trying to sit up. Pain ripped through her side and she lay back on the pillows reluctantly.

"I told you to be a leader! Not to throw yourself into every battle you can find and then ride a horse to the point of exhaustion across two countries!" he exclaimed. "No one is particularly pleased with you, by the way."

"Why?"

"Firstly the horse. I thought your people were supposed to care for horses, not ride them to death. You have embarrassed quite a few people by doing that," he said. "Secondly, you left on the eve of battle to fight elsewhere, though you neglected to mention that last part, and people tend to get rather upset if it looks like you are running from battle. Thirdly, you decided to come back to fight; late, injured and without any men. Fourthly, you had the decency to collapse due your injuries and take up a bed in the Houses of Healing while you recovered."

She glowered at him and tried to ignore the creeping tendrils of shame tugging at her. She had behaved foolishly, she knew that. She could have collapsed somewhere between the Fortress and Minas Tirith and what good would that have done? Her body would have been lost and no-one would have known her fate.

"Oh, and you have set the gossips' tongues a-wagging," Beleg continued drily. "You new King was very concerned about the manner of your arrival and, if not for his sister's injuries, I believe you would have awoken to find him in my seat."

"Wonderful," she muttered. He raised his eyebrows at her expectantly. "It is none of your business, Beleg, so get that look off your face. Never mind me, what are you doing here?"

"Charming. I accompanied my kinsmen here. Our Chieftain, Aragorn, has come to claim his throne and birthright."

She blinked in surprise. An old history lesson with Leonére flooded through her mind and she gasped.

"_Aragorn _is of the line of Kings? He is Isildur's heir?" she asked. Beleg nodded, a grin on his face.

"The line of Numenor will be restored, my people can leave exile in the North and, if not for the problematic neighbour to the East, peace can at last come to our land," he said. She laughed and then started to cough as her ribs ached in protest.

"The neighbour is a little more than problematic, don't you think?" she said. Beleg laughed too and got to his feet. He stretched and ambled towards the door.

"Well, no matter how problematic he becomes, you will not be dealing with him anytime soon. Your injuries will have you away from the battlefield for a long time, Rohiril," he said and left her to wallow in remorse and self-pity.

* * *

Within a few days, the Healers permitted her to leave her bed and spend a few hours sitting by the window of her room. She sat in the chair they brought for her, unmoving, as her eyes drank in Minas Tirith in all its war-ravaged glory.

She had never seen architecture of such magnitude and beauty and she longed to explore the city.

But she was no fool. The Healers of Minas Tirith had none of the tyrannical aura that radiated from Merewald but Ailith knew from her own experiences of healing how frustrating it was when patients refused to do as they were told.

So she stayed put.

Sitting by the window.

Drinking in the city.

She had no visitors, save for Beleg. She did not care.

_What a fool I was_, she kept thinking. Over and over and over.

After a week or so, she wasn't really concentrating on the passage of time, she was allowed to venture out into the garden. There, she sat by the wall and still gazed upon the city. Nobody could disturb her. When a Healer returned to her, she would stand automatically and let herself be led back to her chamber like a child .

"Ailith?" a tentative voice asked. She jumped out of her stupor and turned to see Éowyn. Her hand moved convulsively and she reached out to her friend.

They embraced warmly but they could not cry. They had both used their tears for others; they had none left for themselves.

"I heard the Healers talk of what you did," Ailith said. "You and the Halfling Merry, you slew the Witchking!"

"And your cousin said you fought alongside the Ents," Éowyn said. "That must have been an impressive sight."

"Not really. I did not do much in the battle. My horse fell early on to a stray arrow and I spent most of the battle trying to stay alive. We would have died without the intervention of the Ents."

"It seems we have both struggled," Éowyn agreed. She looked down at the tiny scar on her palm. "I guess we can call ourselves true Shieldmaidens now."

"I suppose we can," Ailith smiled.

She did not realise it but her true Healing began then. One small talk with her closest friend did more good than all the herbs in the stores of the White City.

Yet all Healing can have its setbacks.

She was waiting in the gardens for Éowyn to join her again when she heard the crunch of boots upon gravel.

"Ailith," Éomer said. He stroked some hair off her face and kissed her, a strange tender kiss that sent alarms ringing in her head. "My sister and my lover; I could have lost you both," he said softly.

"You have so little faith in us," she said light-heartedly. He laughed and sat down beside her. His face was suddenly solemn.

"We march for Mordor in a few days," he told her. "And I would be happier riding to my first battle as King knowing I had a Queen waiting for me to return."

Fear twisted in her heart and she yanked her hands away from his.

"Please say you are not asking me what I think you are," she said shakily. A range of emotions flashed across his face. Confusion, hurt and finally anger.

"You won't even think about it!" he exploded. She realised that it had not even occurred to him that she would say no. He shot to his feet, his hands opening and closing with anger. She watched him carefully through narrowed eyes.

"I don't need to think about it. I can't marry you, Éomer. And I am not cruel enough to send you into battle with false hope," she said bitterly. His mouth twisted and he stormed from the gardens before he said or did something he would later regret.

She sagged in her seat.

She had to do that. She had to.

* * *

Some months later

The funeral procession wound slowly across the Plains. The death of a King was always a solemn event. And this King had been particularly beloved, making the occasion even more sombre. The funeral lament was not cried aloud by a single singer but murmured by each mourner individually.

The new King stood in silence, his sister and her betrothed close behind. He still looked uneasy in the crown which until very recently had adorned his uncle's head.

Nobody noticed the two Riders approach from the North and dismount respectfully. They stayed at the back of the crowd until the end of the ceremony. As the crowd dispersed to return home, the woman in the black dress approached the new grave as her companion remounted his horse.

Éomer looked back at the grave and his expression hardened when he saw who stood there. He turned and strode back down the hill. His sister laid a hand on her betrothed's arm as he made to follow.

"Leave him, Faramir," she said quietly. "They need to talk."

She had read and replied to every letter they had exchanged over the past few months. She knew what had to be said. And what was not to be said.

Éomer reached the lone figure in black and paused by their side.

"Have you considered my offer any further?" he asked.

"No. Why should I? The answer is still no," Ailith replied.

"I could order you," he threatened. She scoffed bitterly.

"Really? As what? My commander or my King? If you are my commander then I am a treacherous soldier who will disobey a direct order and if you are my King then you will have the unhappiest Queen in existence, that I will assure you of."

She turned to go back to her horse but he caught her hand.

"Please, Ailith," he said. His face was strangely impassive but his voice broke with emotion. Her heart tugged and she longed to just give in to him.

But she couldn't.

"No. Goodbye, Éomer," she said eventually and walked towards her horse. He didn't see the tears on her own cheeks.

"Did you tell him?" Folcred asked when she reached him and the horses.

"It wasn't necessary," she said thickly, mounting her horse and angrily wiping the tears off her cheeks. As their horses started the long journey back to the Fortress, she pulled the loose material of her dress against the small tell-tale bump of new life in her stomach.

"It wasn't necessary," she repeated.


	35. Epilogue

She returned North, to her home and her duties. There, she governed as she once had; even as her belly grew and she was forced to slow down lest she hurt herself or her child.

On the day she bore her son, when he was placed in her arms for the first time - still warm and damp from birth- the women asked the one question on all their minds; "What will his name be?". One named one's child after its father and she had no husband with a name for him to bear.

She smiled to herself as she rocked him and told them that he had no father; he only had a mother so he will bear a name of her family.

So, she named him Eadric after her first ancestor. As soon as she was able to ride again, she left in the company of her cousin Beleg, leaving her son in the care of Merewald and Folcred. When no word came, they feared the worst but four years later she returned with her hair cut off and many a story and souvenir of her travels. Her eyes had seen from the frozen wastes of Forochel to the scorching deserts of Harad and the experience had changed her, body and soul, forevermore.

They told her that the King had married, a Gondorian beauty he had met whilst visiting King Elessar. She smiled and truthfully said that she was happy for him; happy that he found love again. She would never love another man again. Her love was given to her children and the Fortress and every pebble, blade of grass and speck of dirt that made up the Wold and Rohan.

Oft she spoke of a love for Harad also and this was evident in her change in mannerisms upon her return to the Wold and the many Haradic valuables that came with her. And yet, she rarely spoke of her dealings there. In her old age she would sit by the fire in the Great Hall of the Fortress and if her grandchildren scrabbled at her robes and pleaded for a story of her adventures there, a great sadness would be seen in her milky eyes and a single word she would not utter.

When she eventually died, at peace in her own bed and surrounded by her family, her body was burned at her request. Her ashes were scattered in each of the great places of Rohan, the Fortress, Edoras, Helm's Deep, Dunharrow, so her spirit may protect the country that she loved so from any enemy that opposed it. And, as her cousin Beleg had predicted, her adventures and memory were celebrated in song and it became a tradition of the Fortress for her tale to be sung at each and every Spring Feast.

And her spirit also endured through her children. Her adopted son Cahal founded the first and greatest of the Harad-Rohirric dynasties and captained and trained a team of scouts surpassed only by their Ranger cousins of Ithilien and Arnor. Her son Eadric she saw take the Oath of the Riders and the Oaths of Fealty and Lordship in Meduseld in his eighteenth year and after her death, he rose to become Third Marshal of the Riddermark to his half-brother Elfwine King.

She was the daughter of Ailred and Gléowyn, one-time lover of Éomer Éadig, life-long friend to Éowyn, the White Lady of Ithilien, and mother to Cahal and Eadric.

Her name was Ailith; the Shieldmaiden of the North.

* * *

**So, here we are at the end. It's been a long journey and I'm glad you are here to see it, whether you found this story today or you have been following it since the first chapter was uploaded.  
**

**Despite what she may think, Ailith wouldn't have made that bad a queen in my opinion. She would have just been downright terrifying. In fact, I have drawn quite a few parallels between Queen Ailith and General Armstrong from the Fullmetal Alchemist manga. But Queen Ailith and the Ailith here are completely different people with different lives, I think it is important to say that.**

**And I like Lothiriel too much to break that canon pairing. :D**

**This isn't the end of Ailith. I intend to write a short sequel based on the time Eadric takes his Oaths in Meduseld and I have an idea for an AU story where Ailith did marry Éomer, concerning one of their children and Eldarion. **

**Thank you so much, whether you reviewed, favourited, followed or even just read this. It means a lot to me.**


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